


The Good Fight

by JayEz



Series: The Good Fight Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Canon Compliant, Demon!Dean, Destiel is endgame, Endverse (with a twist), Impala Sex, Knight of Hell Dean, Metatron is a douchebag, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Rimming, Rough Sex, Season 10 AU, Season 9 finale spoilers, Top Castiel, Top Dean, and now there is porn, my take on season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 127,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 10 AU. Dean wakes up in the bunker when he is supposed to be dead, only to discover he has become a Knight of Hell. Refusing to let go of his human side, he and Sam decide to stick with the family business, yet in the quest to re-open Heaven, Dean has to make a deal with Crowley that might have sealed his fate. </p><p>Eventual Destiel, featuring alive!Gabriel and Kevin Tran as well as a whole lot of plot. Structured like episodes of the show.</p><p>NOW COMPLETE. Written before season 10 aired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 1 - Teaser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t stop myself - this just came pouring out of me! This is unbeta’d, which shall be remedied as soon as possible.
> 
> Title from "The Purge". Near the end, Dean says Sam and he should be "fighting the good fight", which I found very fitting for this fic.
> 
> Edit 21-06-2014: Now with title cards! Yay! So from chapter 3 on there will be a title card after the episode's teaser, which makes me ridiculously happy. I made them myself, but the Mark is taken from [this](http://scampicrevette.deviantart.com/art/Mark-Of-Cain-Dean-Winchester-445327909) wonderful piece of fanart.
> 
> Edit 14-11-2014: The wonderful [AlchemyIndex](http://alchemyindex.deviantart.com/) drew something amazing for this fic and words cannot express how much this means to me! Take a look and let them know how awesome it is :) Here is the link to the [post on deviantart](http://alchemyindex.deviantart.com/art/TheGoodFight-494332159).

For a moment, Dean is completely disoriented. He’s pretty sure that he died and yet here he is, in his bed in the bunker, feeling… strange. An echo of a memory, or a dream maybe, lingers in the periphery of his thoughts but it is gone before Dean can hold onto it. 

All that remains is this strange feeling.

And pain, but after the pounding he took from Metatron, that doesn’t come as a surprise. 

Dean stumbles out of bed and into the bathroom. He sways a little on his feet, grips the sink to steady himself before he looks up to size up the damage in the mirror. 

Black eyes stare back at him and Dean’s blood runs cold. 

*

The ingredients still are salvageable; all that the ritual needs is a flame to ignite it. Sam flicks the burning match into the bowl, hands clenching into fists as he awaits Crowley’s arrival. 

“Moose. Colour me not at all surprised.”

“Cut the crap, Crowley.”

“Someone’s angry.”

Sam growls, not caring in the least about how mad he must appear. Nothing matters now, nothing except Dean. 

“This is all your fault. You’re going to get him back, or I swear to God –“

Crowley cuts him off, voice eerily calm. “I’m not going to do anything since there is nothing that needs to be done.”

Sam spies a bottle of holy water on the shelf and is about to grab it and fling it at the son of a bitch in front of him, when a loud _crash_ echoes through the bunker. 

Sam’s heart stops and he is out of the room immediately, trying to locate the source of the sound. 

He clatters to a halt in the hallway that leads to Dean’s room.

The bed is empty. 

“Dean?!” he calls out, distantly aware that it might not be the wisest thing to do but his brother’s damn corpse is missing and he is allowed to make some stupid decisions. 

“Sammy?” 

Dean. Dean is alive and talking, sounding incredibly freaked out judging by the quiver in his voice, but the important thing is that he’s not a cold body for Sam to burn, that his brother is still here, still breathing, still – 

They stare at each other; Dean standing amongst shards of glass with freshly bloodies knuckles from where they broke the mirror, Sam outside the bathroom, blinking at his brother. 

Black eyes return his gaze. There is no emotion in them but the face surrounding them shows signs of confusion and surprise, signs that Sam can read perfectly because he spent a lifetime reading them. 

Signs that he thought he would never, ever see again. 

Sam closes the distance between them in two wide strides, glass crunching underneath the heels of his shoes as he pulls his brother into a crushing hug. He thought he shed all the tears he is capable of shedding yet even more fall now as he feels Dean’s rapid heartbeat against his chest. 

Something is wrong. It takes a second for Sam to realize what it is, though when he notices that Dean is rigid in his arms, isn’t returning the hug at all, Sam releases him immediately. 

When their eyes meet again, Dean’s are back to their usual, vibrant green. 

“How…” Sam has a hard time finding the right words. “How are you feeling?”

“Fucking weird,” Dean grunts, eyes glancing back to the broken mirror. 

“Your eyes,” Sam blurts before he can help it, though maybe it’s better this way or else they’d spend days ignoring the elephant in the room. 

“I’ve got no idea, man.” Dean draws in on himself and a shiver runs through his body. “I’m sorta… detached.”

Sam swallows around the lump in his throat. “We should make sure. Crowley’s still in the other room.”

Dean’s face transforms suddenly, features contorting into a grimace. “Did _you_ do this?”

“No!” Sam throws his hands up. “He appeared and then I heard you in here and I swear, Dean, whatever’s going on, it wasn’t me!”

“Why did you summon him, then, if not –“ Dean stops abruptly, what little is left of his color draining from his face. Without another word, Dean pushes past Sam, flees the bathroom and rushes down the hall, through the main area and into the storeroom. 

Sam chases after him and almost collides with him because Dean is standing in the doorway, rooted to the spot.

“What the hell, Crowley?”

The King of Hell merely smirks. 

Spurred into action, Dean paces, restless, and runs a hand through his hair. He notices something on a shelf and goes for it.

Holy water. 

“Dean,” Sam cautions but it’s no use. His brother decided he’d do something and he’ll see it through so Sam can but watch as Dean snatches the plastic bottle, unscrews the top and holds out his arm. 

Dean’s painful gasp resounds through the room. Sam flinches at seeing his brother in agony again so soon, while Crowley looks entirely too amused for his liking. 

“Can you feel it, Dean? The difference, the liberation from humanity?”

“I feel weird as fuck,” Dean snaps, rubbing at the reddened skin of his forearm. 

“But how’s this possible?” Sam finally asks. The King of Hell doesn’t answer with words; instead he glances at Dean’s forearm where part of the Mark is visible, standing out starkly against pale skin. “Didn’t you think this was vital information you could have shared BEFORE we set out to kill Metatron?” Sam bellows, his blood is boiling and his patience wearing thin. 

“I only heard rumors, nothing definitive. But apparently, it doesn’t matter if you kill yourself with the Blade like Cain or some flappy angel bashes your skull in. The Mark won’t let you go.”

“So I’m a fucking demon now?”

“A Knight of Hell, actually. My knight.” He sends a toothy grin their way. 

“What’re you sayin’, that I _work_ for you now?!”

Crowley rolls his eyes, pointing his thumbs at himself. “King of Hell. Ruler of all demons.”

“Screw this!”

“I might not have made you, boy, but don’t think for one second that I can’t unmake you,” Crowley warns in a dangerously low tone that chills Sam to the bones. 

“Wait, wait!” he intervenes, stepping between Dean and Crowley but mindful not to disturb the devil’s trap. Shit, could he trap Dean in one now? Can Dean be summoned? 

“I’m sure we can find some kind of compromise.”

Both Dean and Crowley stare at him, one still confused, the other surprised. 

“Don’t tell me you want to continue this thing of yours, what was that catch phrase?” Crowley muses. “Saving people, hunting things?”

“Of course!”

“Don’t be daft. Your brother isn’t your brother anymore – remember the good old days, moose? The ones where you were missing your soul? No remorse, no emotions, with humanity just a dirty little splotch in the corner of your rearview mirror?” Sam’s jaw snaps shut. “And the Blade won’t cease to affect him; he’s a killer, a demon, the same thing you swore to hunt.” Like flicking a switch, Crowley’s tone becomes flippant suddenly. “And not to forget, my employee of the month.”

“We can work around this,” Sam insists.

“How can you be so sure your brother even wants to hunt his kind anymore?”

Sam’s mouth runs dry and he seeks Dean’s eyes, looking for reassurance. Yet Dean’s eyes aren’t as expressive anymore as they used to. If Sam hadn’t known Dean since he was born, he might not even have noticed the change, but as it is, it is glaringly obvious. Shadows of emotions, nothing more. 

“What do you want, Dean?” he whispers, almost pleads. 

Dean’s brows furrow, he opens his mouth as if to speak only to close it again. More shadows flicker across his face until his expression gives over to frustration. Dean makes a sound between a growl and a cry, sounding entirely lost, before he flees the room. 

“He always had a way with words, didn’t he?” is Crowley’s comment. 

Since the King of Hell is still safely inside the trap, Sam intends to follow his brother, yet the other demon calls him back. 

“Leave him be. First day as a demon – can be a tad disorienting. No worries, Moose, he’ll be back to spiffing in no time,” he adds sarcastically. 

“We can make this work.”

“You’re not listening,” Crowley chides. “Dean still has the Mark. Dean needs to kill or it will kill him.”

“He can kill demons, like we always do.”

“That’s what, one kill a week? Won’t be enough, Moose.”

“He’s not joining you in Hell.”

“It’s where he belongs.”

“He’s my brother, he belongs with ME!” 

Silence falls over the room. Crowley remains unimpressed and cold panic fills Sam’s veins. He can’t loose Dean. Not twice in one day. Not like this. 

“I got that from the deal you were trying to make. Out of curiosity, what would you have offered me? Your soul for his, just so that he’ll break you out of hell again after, feeding the cycle of brotherly sacrifice?”

Sam bites his tongue. Literally. It’s a good way to quell the anxiety threatening to overcome him. 

“You can’t let go of each other, can you?” Crowley shakes his head, a faint smirk playing around his lips. “Good thing that I like you, boys. You keep me on my toes. I give you 48 hours to figure yourselves out.”

Sam tries his best to keep his shoulders from sagging in relief. He succeeds, but Crowley is attentive; he probably noticed anyway. 

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll give you a call.” He looks at Sam expectantly and when he doesn’t react immediately, he rolls his eyes. “If you don’t let me out within the next two seconds –”

Sam hurries to break the circle and before he has even fully straightened up, Crowley has vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this the “teaser” of 10x01, so to speak. I will continue this as soon as my schedule permits; hopefully I’ll write some more today and tomorrow but I’m running on three hours of sleep and have been awake since after the finale… 
> 
> I get that demon!Dean is a controversial subject since there are still lots of unanswered questions. However, I believe he is indeed a Knight of Hell and will reference the SPN Wikia to make this fic as closely to canon as possible. 
> 
> Fyi, you can find me on tumblr either on my [multifandom blog](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/) or on my [writer’s blog](http://jayez-fanfiction.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Anyway, I live on air and feedback so don’t be shy :)


	2. Episode 1 - The Good Fight (Act I, II, III and IV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is confused and decides he needs some answers, so he and Sam set out to visit the one man who might have an explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Chapter titles will indicated the "episodes" of my own imaginary season 10. I'll try to adhere to the structure of episodic dramas, but if the story requires something else, I will go with the flow.  
> And most importantly: I do have a plan; the plot’s been outlined, so I’m not just making it up as I go^^

The first thing Dean’s eyes land on is the bottle of whiskey on the table, empty glass sitting next to it just waiting to be refilled. Dean does exactly that, downing one shot, then another and it still burns at the back of his throat. At least that hasn’t changed, even if the entire game has. 

Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell. Ain’t that screwed up. 

And damn confusing, if he’s being honest. He’s always thought demons are pure evil, only interested in maiming and wreaking havoc. Shouldn’t he feel different? Because right now he sure as hell doesn’t feel like evil incarnate. 

Dean scratches his lower arm through the open plaid shirt that’s still blood-stained. 

Inside his head, everything’s where it’s supposed to be. He still has all his memories, shit, even Sam’s face when he found him, stabbed and beaten, where Metatron had defeated him, is etched into his mind. 

Dean remembers his dying words, knows the memory should make him… experience something but it’s like he has a theoretical idea of what he should feel but the actual feeling is… not actually happening. If he really needed, he could probably convince himself that his heart clenches in his chest when he thinks about it… 

Dean shakes his head. Too much introspection for one guys who’s supposed to be dead anyway. 

_Wait a minute._

He’s a demon now. Demons have powers. 

The first thing Dean tries is bend a spoon with his mind because, come on, that’s like the entry exam for telekinetic folk. It’s also fun, he thinks as he bends the deformed spoon back into shape. 

Next on his list – teleportation. He zaps into the main area and back into the kitchen, lips curling into a smile at how little effort it took. Now he can pay Cas back for all the times that he’s – 

Fuck. _Cas_. 

What had Sam said? That he’s fighting with Gadreel, trying to get into Heaven… That has to be where Metatron flew off to. 

Dean knows he should panic. Be worried, something. At least the emotions are there, though only like a distant echo. They’re not clouding his judgment – otherwise he’d already be running to Sam, grabbing his arm and dragging his ass to the Impala in order to find out what happened. 

“Dean?” his brother’s voice comes from the doorway. “Are you… what are you…”

“I’m testing out my brand new demon powers,” Dean tells him, seizing the opportunity and teleporting so that he’s right behind Sam when he reappears a split second later.

“Boo!“ he whispers in Sam’s ear and his brother jumps about a foot. 

“Damn it, Dean, that’s not funny!”

“I think I’m hilarious,” Dean shoots back with a cocky smile. 

That earns him Bitchface number seven for a moment until Sam sobers up and his tone turns serious. 

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I said, weird as fuck.”

“Are you still… you know?”

“Me?”

Sam shrugs for lack of any better way to get his point across. 

“Basically, I guess. Everything’s distant.”

“How?”

“Fuck, Sammy, I don’t know, okay? Enough with the Dr. Phil crap already.”

“Well, sorry, but Crowley’s given us an ultimatum.” When Dean raises an eyebrow, Sam elaborates. “We’ve got 48 hours to figure out what we wanna do.”

“Alright.”

Silence falls. Dean knows what Sam’s gonna ask next so his thoughts drift, trying to come up with an answer. 

“What do you want to do, Dean?” Sam’s voice is so soft that Dean barely catches it. 

That’s one hell of a question. He scratches his arm again, drawing Sam’s attention, but before his brother can say anything else, Dean draws in a breath as he remembers something. 

“Missouri.”

“What?”

Dean draws a deep breath. “That’s where Cain lives. And grows corn,” he adds with a snort. “Might give us some answers.”

He decidedly doesn’t mention the promise he gave the man. 

Meanwhile, Sam’s thinking, probably calculating how long it’ll take them to get to Iowa from their area of Kansas, and maybe even wondering if Dean’s got an ulterior motif. 

“Alright.”

“That’s it? Alright and you’re packing?”

“Crowley said the transformation can be confusing and if talking to Cain helps, then why not? I’m swimming just as much as you are, buddy.”

 _Buddy._ The word leaves a bitter aftertaste and it takes a second before Dean makes the connection. 

“Why’d you summon him anyway?” Sam grits his teeth. “’cause as far as I know, you wanted to make a deal. But you know what’s odd? I remember you telling me that you’d let me die, that you wouldn’t be selfish and get me back. Remember that, do you?” Sam’s eyes drop to the floor. “What changed?”

His brother swallows hard, his lower lip trembling slightly. The pang of guilt surprises Dean – it’s not distant at all but right there, just like it always was when he did something that upset Sam or made him cry when they were younger. 

Damn, this shit is confusing. 

“How can you even ask that? You _died_ , in my arms, _again_. And I just couldn’t…” Sam trails off but Dean knows what he was going to say nevertheless. 

*

“Why the fuck did I have to demon-proof my car!” 

Dean curses again under his breath and kicks at his baby’s front wheel. At least salt doesn’t affect him, which they found out as Dean crossed the threshold leading to the garage without any problems. 

“Hang on,” Sam placates him and sweeps up the foot mat to break the devil’s trap painted underneath the foot mat, forming an ellipse all around the car’s interior.

“Can’t even get to the guns in the trunk ‘cause of that fucking devil’s trap,” Dean grouses, anger bubbling up in his chest. The urge to dig in his backpack for the blade is growing stronger by the second, as if it calls out to him and wouldn’t it feel good just to hold it again? 

“Dean!”

His head whips around and he sees Sam gesturing to the open driver door. 

“Let’s go.”

When Dean slides inside the Impala seat, he calms down slowly until he almost feels human again. His girl has always been special, no wonder she’s the place he feels most at ease, Dean muses as he relishes the feel of leather against his back, even if it’s only through his clothes. 

It’s the middle of the night so Sammy dozes off soon after Dean pops in a tape and speeds down the I-70 without thinking too much. It’s surprisingly easy, turning his brain off, enjoying the simple pleasure of being on the road, completely free of worry if he ignores the echoes of emotions in his head. 

A few hours in Dean realizes that he doesn’t feel exhausted at all, not even a bit tired. 

Huh. Demons don’t sleep. 

Then it hits him. 

Demons don’t need to eat either. 

Well, just ‘cause they don’t need to doesn’t mean they can’t. Dean’s seen lots of them in diners, eating what they didn’t know was their last meal before he ganked them. 

Pie is saved, after all. 

It’s early morning when they’re approaching Cain’s house, having stopped at a gas station to refuel and get Sammy some breakfast. At Dean’s “Not hungry”, his brother looked like he wanted to ask if he’s fine before understanding flashed across his face and he turned around quickly. 

Cain’s house is still in tact, as are the cornfields surrounding it. 

“He really likes corn, doesn’t he?” Sam wonders out loud and Dean chuckles, comeback already on his lips when he senses something. More somethings. 

He swings his bag around, opening it quickly and grabbing for the blade, still inside the cloth Sam wrapped it in last night. 

“What the hell, Dean?”

“Something’s wrong,” he grunts and advances. There’s still fabric between his hand and the weapon but he can feel the Mark tingling in anticipation. 

He breaks down the door after casting a glance at Sam, who seems to have resigned himself to follow Dean’s lead, Ruby’s knife at the ready. 

He doesn’t find anything until he’s in the kitchen, where five people are eating breakfast. No, not people. Demons, his mind supplies before Dean sees any black eyes. Okay, and that might be because he’s actually seeing their true faces, too. 

If he thought that scarecrow in Indiana was ugly, he has no words to describe what’s in front of him now. Deformed… revolting. And ain't that raising some questions about himself, which he immediately smothers mentally. 

“Who the fuck are you?” one of the demons asks, a tough looking lad with a tattoo covering his arm. 

“The last thing you’ll see in this life,” Dean shoots back, releasing his hold on the cloth and catching the blade with his left hand when it rolls out. His Mark must be glowing now, judging by the identical horrified expressions on the demon’s faces. 

They make a run for it, but Dean slides furniture in front of the doors, feeling the remnants of Cain’s warding still in place. It’s easy to follow the path, then, and barely with any conscious effort Dean stops the creatures from smoking out and escaping. 

“What do you want?” the older of the two woman snaps, her voice trembling in fear. 

Oh, how Dean’s likes that. 

“Where’s Cain?”

When no one answers, Dean takes another step towards them. He senses Sam at his back, taking in the scene unfolding in front of him. 

“We got no clue, okay?” the youngest say, raising his hand. “He up an’ left, so we squatted!” 

“Seriously, we didn’t even get here until after he was gone!” the first guy adds. 

“Well, thanks for your cooperation,” Dean drawls. “Now to the fun part.”

He passes the blade to his right hand and lunges forward, the demons scurrying out of his way but they forgot Sam, who, by the sound of it, buries his knife to the hilt in the first demon that comes his way. 

Dean decapitates the woman with one clean cut, moves onto the next one with speed and then zaps at the other end of the room where the youngest ran to and stabs him in the back, purple light filling the room. 

He turns around but the last one is already dead at Sam’s feet. 

Dean nods curtly, then rounds the living room, looking for anything that might clue him in to Cain’s new location, but most of the personal stuff is long gone, including the photograph of Colette. 

Cain said he’d call. Maybe Dean’s not meant to find him on his own. Just then his eyes fall on a map hanging on the wall and he’s pretty sure that thing wasn’t there the last time he visited. 

“Sammy, over here!” he calls, switching the blade to his left hand once more. He instinctively knows what to do. The map is cold when he presses his palm against it, almost unnaturally so. It heats up under his touch, though, and Dean waits. 

“There!” 

Dean’s head snaps back and he follows his brother’s line of sight to a single, glowing red dot. 

“Iowa.” That’s maybe a five-hour drive from here. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“Could you, uh, drop the blade?”

Dean glares but since he’s about to get behind a wheel, it’s only sensible so he bites back his protests. When he passes a cupboard with glass front and sees the black eyes in his reflection, Dean flinches a little. He can guess why Sam’s so wound up. 

*

When they stop at a diner a few hours later, because Dean heard his stomach growl, Sam is still shaken. 

Seeing his brother fighting demons at superhuman speed, black-eyed, moving furniture with all but his mind, the Mark standing out starkly against his skin and the blade bloodied by its victims, was overwhelming. 

Dean has always been a brilliant fighter, yet his heightened abilities take it to an entirely different level. The brutality of it both has Sam in awe and chills him to the bone. 

“What can I get you, gentlemen?” The waitress sounds chipper, which isn’t surprising since they’re the only customers. 

Sam orders water and a salad, his blood running cold when the woman turns towards his brother. Demons don’t eat, technically. 

“Soda and a slice of pie, darlin’. I saw you offer apple with ice cream?”

“Sure thing. Coming right up!”

Once she is out of earshot, Sam narrows his eyes at Dean across the table. 

“Dude, just ‘cause demons don’t need to eat doesn’t mean I’ll give up pie! That ain’t happening.”

It is so typically Dean that some of the apprehension drains from Sam’s body and he can actually relax for the remainder of their stay in the diner. 

“So what’s Cain like?” he asks as they are speeding down the road again. 

Dean gives he kind of shrug he always gives when he doesn’t want to talk about something. Well, if Dean thinks he’ll let it slide, he’s got another thing coming. He won’t walk into the home of _the_ Cain and be unprepared. 

His brother probably senses his eyes on him and heaves a sigh. “I don’t know. He was pretty laid-back. Didn’t want to fight, saying he’s retired now. Likes being left alone.”

“So he won’t be happy to see us.”

“Nah, I think we’re good.” That off-handed tone makes Sam straighten up in his seat. 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Why’re you so sure Cain won’t chase us off the moment we get near him?”

“Come on, he gave me the Mark – “

“Exactly! He’s done with that crap, so why’re you so sure, Dean?”

“’cause I made a promise!” Dean finally shouts, eyes suddenly black and the shock of it has Sam twitch noticeably yet Dean doesn’t seem to care about his reaction right now. 

Sam swallows hard, gathering himself again. “What promise?”

“He made me swear that I’ll kill him when I’m done with Abbadon.”

“Wha – why?”

“’cause he made a promise to his wife never to kill again and that night he did so that Crowley and me could make a run for it, that’s why.”

It all slots into place then. “And he’s still a Knight of Hell, so only the blade can kill him.”

“And the blade’s useless without the Mark. A golden star for Sammy!” 

“It’s not my fault you never told me the entire story!”

“Well, now you know so stop bitching about it.”

Needless to say, the rest of the drive passes in silence, except for Led Zeppelin playing over the speakers. 

*

Sam shouldn’t be nervous. He really shouldn’t – he met Lilith and the devil himself, countless angels and _dragons_ , so Cain from the Old Testament really shouldn’t be that big a deal. 

Still, his palms are a little sweaty when they pull up to the house somewhere on the outskirts of Iowa City. It looks similar to the one in Missouri with an equal amount of cornfields surrounding it. The sun is shining bright and a bee flies past Sam’s ear. 

Despite everything, Dean and he still make a great team. They are in tune with each other, Sam following the slightest flick of his brother’s wrist as they round the house once, yet there is no one in sight. 

When they return to the porch, the front door is open. 

They exchange a brief glance and Dean advances first, blade back in his bag but it is hardly the only weapon he has on himself and even if they won’t harm a Knight of Hell, it’ll be enough for regular demons. 

“Dean. Sam. I was expecting you.” The unfamiliar voice belongs to a man standing in front of a sofa in what has to be the living room. There is a tray of tea or maybe coffee and cookies on the low table between the couch and the two armchairs.

It is all very, very strange. 

“Cain.” Dean nods but doesn’t sit down. 

“Hello,” Sam offers for lack of anything better to say. 

Cain doesn’t answer him, merely looks him over with a piercing stare whose intensity makes Sam slightly uncomfortable. 

“Sit. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” 

The man leads by example and Sam follows. Only Dean remains upright, his expression distorted in a defiant glare. 

“Yeah, like what the hell is going on with me?”

Cain doesn’t raise his voice when he replies, and Sam starts to understand what Dean meant with ‘laid-back’. “I certainly recall that you wanted to be spared the warning labels. All you cared about was having a way to kill Abbadon. I heard you succeeded.”

“That bitch is dead,” Dean growls, “but what’s happened to me?”

“What do you think, Dean?”

Sam watches as Dean’s jaw snaps shut and decides it is time to intervene before Dean gets even more riled up. 

“It looks like he as become a demon, but – I always thought you need to die and go to hell first?”

“True. For all but one.”

Sam feels his eyes widen. “You mean, you –“

“The same happened to me. I got the Mark and when I died, it didn’t let me go. I became the first Knight of Hell.”

“Is that why Dean’s still,” Sam hesitates briefly, “mostly himself?”

Dean growls from where he is pacing behind the armchairs but Sam’s eyes are focused on Cain, who nods gravely. 

“Usually, demons are souls that have been tortured in hell. Lucifer handpicked the other Knights that way. That didn’t happen to us. It means we still have some humanity left in us, but it’s distant. You need to work to keep it, or you’ll lose yourself in what the Mark wants you to be.”

“Ain’t that great? Can’t even become a demon the normal way,” Dean grumbles, extremely annoyed by the sound of it. 

At that, Cain rises, walking over to where Dean is staring at a picture of a woman, the name ‘Colette’ filling the bottom third of the portrait. 

“I told you the Mark comes at a great cost –“

“Well, good for you –“

“But I also said we are very much alike.” Cain steps forward, almost into Dean’s personal space. “I wouldn’t have given you the Mark if I hadn’t deemed you worthy, Dean. Or strong enough to not let yourself be ruled by it.”

“How?”

“You have people in your life that will keep you in touch with your humanity.” Cain doesn’t mention any names, but Sam knows exactly whom he is hinting at. “Don’t lose yourself in the bloodlust, no matter how good it feels. Don’t repeat my mistakes.”

“Well, a little late for that.”

Cain raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“Now, I believe you have a promise to fulfill.”

“Wait,” Sam cuts in, jumping to his feet. “I still have a few questions.”

“Oh, did I mention my brother’s a big nerd?” Dean mocks from his place near the picture. 

The other man merely smiles indulgingly, so Sam breathes in deeply before he begins. 

“What are Dean’s weaknesses? We already found out the devil’s trap is one of them, but he’s got no problems crossing a salt line. We should know; I don’t wanna cause him unnecessary harm.” He can feel his brother’s eyes on him throughout his brief speech.

“The only way to kill Dean is with the First Blade, but I guess you already put that together yourselves. Angel blades cause great harm but not death, neither will any other weapon, except maybe Death’s scythe but no Knight has ever come up against that in a fight,” Cain explains slowly. “Holy fire and holy water will hurt, nothing more. But yes, a devil’s trap will even keep Dean out. Or in.”

Sam nods his thanks, processing the news. 

“Now, I’m not here to give lectures. Dean, it’s time you pick up the blade.”

There is no moment of hesitation, just swift movement as his brother retrieves the weapon and follows Cain through the back door into his garden, framed by cornfields and Sam can even see several bee houses to their left. 

Cain comes to a stop next to a patch of recently deterred ground in front of a gravestone. Sam assumes it houses his wife and that it used to be in Missouri, yet given that he still has a picture of her on his mantelpiece, Sam isn’t surprised that Cain went to great length to move her final resting place with him.

“Any requests?” Dean asks, blade in hand and eyes darkening. 

“Stabbing me should suffice.”

Dean nods grimly and twirls the blade in his hand but Cain’s eyes find Sam’s in that moment. 

“Your brother told me when we first met that you don’t give up on family. I hope for Dean’s sake that you return the sentiment.”

“Can we stop with the chick-flick moments already? I thought you wanted me to kill you.”

Cain turns around again with a smirk. “Then do it.” Dean reaches back. “And Dean? Thank you.” 

He rams the blade into Cain’s heart, much like he did with Abbadon and Sam has to shield his eyes from the light emanating from Cain’s body as the wind picks up and makes the crops move with it. 

The Father of Murder falls to the ground, limp and lifeless, while Dean wipes the blade off, breathing heavily. He makes for the front gate immediately after that, weapon still in hand. 

“Shouldn’t we burry him?”

“Leave him for the bees, man. I’m sure he’d have loved that,” Dean calls over his shoulder and sure enough, the first bee is already buzzing around the corpse. 

Sam casts one last look at Cain before he turns on his heels and follows his brother back to the Impala. 

*

Castiel is swept up in the ensuing chaos. More portals have to be built, their brothers and sisters still on Earth have to be informed so that, one day soon, every angel has returned home. 

As good as it feels to have accomplished his mission, Castiel can’t quite appreciate the festive mood, can’t cheer with the others, can’t celebrate their triumph. 

The moment an opportunity arose, Castiel’s feet carried him back to Metatron’s office where he has been staring at the floor ever since. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed yet he can’t tear his eyes away from the bloodied angel blade on the plush carpet.

Dean’s blood. 

Castiel clenches his hands into fists, barely holding himself back from storming out and ending Metatron’s life after all. 

The last time he saw Dean was in the bunker, when Castiel locked him up with no words to spare for him – nothing, not even a goodbye. 

And now… Now all that’s left is for him to visit Sam, express his condolences because that is the social protocol in situations like this, is it not? He should also explain what has transpired in Heaven and that soon, the remaining angels will be able to return home. 

Yes. Castiel should take his leave. 

If only he could tear his eyes away from the dried blood on the angel blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. That’s my interpretation of what Dean is now. I’ve seen lots of theories over the past few days, some very, very pessimistic, some saying Dean won’t stay a demon for long. Let me just say: There won’t be a quick miracle cure for Dean in this fic.  
> (Besides, a) if Sam cures Dean, he’ll complete the demon trials after all and die; b) if Dean isn’t a knight, he could be exorcised but even then, his human body is mush, so that wouldn’t help either, really; c) Knight of Hell Dean makes for a much longer plot arch and is so much more fun^^)
> 
>  **Important:** I will change the tags when I publish chapter 3 and be clear that this story’s endgame is Destiel.  
>  The subtext is there on the show; it’s so much there that it can’t be queerbaiting any longer. (Or if it is, I’ll be eternally pissed off because that’s not okay). Just giving all non-shippers a heads-up. Nothing will happen for quite some time given the situation we’re currently in, but the undertones will be there. 
> 
> As always, Iet me know what you think :) If you want to talk fandom or meta, hit me up on [my tumblr](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/ask+faq)!


	3. Episode 2 - Devil's Backbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel travels to Kansas to convey his condolences. Meanwhile, a hooded stranger is searching all of India for a powerful artifact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s official – this is a Destiel story! I’m trying to keep it as “realistic” as possible, so it might take a while until we reach the porn… but it will come (no pun intended^^). 
> 
> Song for this installment: “Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars

_Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do?_  
 _I’ve fallen for someone who’s nothing like you_  
 _He’s raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone_  
 _Oh I just wanna take him home_  
 _Oh I just wanna take him home_

*

It takes over twenty-four hours until what for now is Heaven has returned to something akin to order. As soon as he can allow himself to leave, Castiel creates a portal over Lebanon, Kansas, and makes his way to the bunker. 

It is the middle of the night on Earth, maybe even early morning, so calling Sam on his phone might not be considered socially acceptable. Thus, Castiel resigns himself to wait. He wanders off to find some flowers – they are a customary gift in times of grief, after all. 

The first rays of sunlight have yet to brighten the sky when Castiel returns, and as luck would have it (he snorts mentally at the notion that luck might actually be with him, given all that has transpired), Castiel reaches the bunker’s garage just as the gate begins to close. 

The inside is dimly lit, yet he recognizes the younger Winchester’s silhouette immediately. 

“Sam.”

“Cas?” 

Before he can so much as reflect on Sam’s relieved tone, Castiel senses a presence approaching from his left and with the speed and force of a warrior he spins around and slams the attacker against the garage door, pressing his blade against the creature’s throat. 

“Is that an angel blade or are you just happy to see me?” it asks in a chillingly familiar voice. 

Castiel focuses on the vessel rather than the true fo- 

Dean. 

He jumps back, his blade clattering to the floor, the sound loud in the large room. 

Words fail him. Logic fails him. All that is left is raw emotions and even they contradict each other. 

“Cas, no need to panic.”

Sam appears to his left, exchanging glances with what clearly is Dean and yet not him at all. His body looks the same, though where once was a bright soul, now sits a creature with skeletal features and a horned skull. Something unusual is going on; it is like the appearance fluctuates, swaying from shining brightness to all-consuming blackness. 

“Are you okay?” Sam’s question pulls Castiel out of his thoughts and back into his own emotional turmoil. At this moment, confusion wins out and he looks up, meeting green eyes. 

“Metatron told me you were dead.”

The soft smile is still the same as always and Castiel drinks it in, together with Dean’s deep voice as he explains, slightly bitter, “I was. The Mark had other plans.”

Castiel reflexively glances down to Dean’s arm where he knows the sign to be, although it is currently hidden beneath the plaid of Dean’s shirt. 

“What about Metatron?” Sam asks. “Is he dead? I mean, you’re here, so…?”

Castiel shakes his head, hoping the movement will serve to clear his mind in addition to answering part of the question. It doesn’t help. 

“We used a ploy to enter Heaven, but they saw through us and put Gadreel and me in prison.” He recounts all that has happened since, including Gadreel’s heroic suicide, which enabled Castiel to confront Metatron and expose his lies. 

“You mean that douchebag’s still walking and talking?!” Dean growls, angrier than he usually would be. 

“Enough angel blood has been spilt. Heaven’s jail will hold him for eterni -”

“Damn it, Cas! After all that he’s done to us? To you?!”

“It was my decision to make!” Castiel shouts back, his body filling with rage.

“That fuckin’ son of a bitch killed me!”

He has to take a deep breath as not to slam Dean against the nearest wall, and Dean appears to be trying to hold back with equal effort, yet his eyes have turned black and Castiel can but stare into the abyss wanting to swallow him. 

Sam coughs pointedly. “Would you… like to come in?” he offers and Castiel nods slowly, attempting to rein in his anger, the hurt, the disappointment… the revulsion that he hates himself for already. 

Inside the bunker, Sam makes himself coffee while Dean pours a shot of whiskey from the bottle standing on the table. 

“It’s four o’clock in the morning, Dean,” Castiel feels bound to point out. 

“Bite me, Cas,” he snaps back, downing the shot in one, and Castiel’s eyes track the movement of his throat. 

Sam returns from the coffee maker, swallowing nervously and running a hand through his hair. 

“So how’s, uh, how’s Heaven?” 

Castiel smiles tentatively, seizing the opportunity of a subject change. “Less chaotic than it was yesterday. Portals are still the only way to enter and exit but we are working on establishing more, also for the Reapers. There are too many souls in the veil.”

Sam grimaces and belatedly Castiel remembers that it was Sam’s body that was used to kill Kevin. “I’m sorry, I –“

“No, it’s… It’s good you’re… Yeah.” Tense silence falls for a moment or two and again, it is Sam who breaks it. “And if you need any help, Cas, just tell us, okay? We’ll do what we can.”

“ _We_?” Castiel chances a glance in Dean’s direction, whose expression is grim but he doesn’t contradict his brother. 

“Yes. We.”

“Won’t let a little thing like becoming a Knight of Hell get between me and the family business, right?” Dean quips, yet his voice lacks any kind of frivolity. 

Castiel doesn’t know how to respond, how to process any of this. The news of Dean’s death took the breath out of his lungs, would have been something Castiel would never have moved on from, but this? He knows of the Knights, of what they did, knows that Cain grew ever more wicked and cruel as time wore on… Dean has already been affected by the Mark – how much worse will it become now that his humanity is mostly gone? 

“I need to return to Heaven,” he mumbles. The excuse is flimsy but he needs to leave now, he needs to… What he needs is to be an angel again, void of human emotions, void of all these feelings that make it hard to breathe. 

Castiel hears Sam call after him yet he ignores him, storms out of the bunker and into the chilly morning air. 

*

*

Somewhere in India, a hooded man walks through the caves below a Buddhist temple. 

The hewed out space has long been abandoned, remnants from times before the temple was rebuilt above the surface. The man inspects the inscription on the walls closely, gloved fingers skirting over stone. 

Whatever he is looking for is not here. 

He surveys the cave one last time, head turning underneath his hood and, with a sound of wings for no one to hear, disappears. 

*

The door slams shut, the noise echoing loudly throughout the bunker. Dean steps towards the table again, eyes zeroing in on the bottle and the little alcohol left in it. They’re gonna need more. 

“Dude,” Sam says as he puts himself between Dean and the liquor. “You should go after him.”

“What the hell for, Sammy?”

“Just… Do it, okay?”

“And what good’ll it do? In case you missed the memo, I’m an ugly demon now and he’s still a freakin’ angel!” 

“He’s our friend,” Sam insists, not giving him an inch. 

“Sure, right,” Dean snorts, closing his eyes briefly and immediately opening them again because when he closes them, he’s only gonna see Cas, not vessel Cas but actual Cas, ‘cause Dean can see that now. And damn, if it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Dean.”

He growls in response but he knows his brother well enough to be sure that he won’t get out of this. So he grabs his keys, checks that he has at least some sort of weapon ‘cause you never know, and exits the bunker. 

He finds Cas a minute later – and he’s not alone. 

One angel has his arms around Cas in a tight grip, choking him while the second one’s in front of him, trailing his angel blade down the front of Cas’ chest, and Dean sees red. 

He teleports to where Cas’ blade has dropped, then jumps up behind the second angel, sinking the blade right into his back. Dean has to shield his eyes, black now, from the blast but then he casts the body aside, bloodied weapon in his hand. 

The angel holding Cas pales, like he’s seen a ghost, though he doesn’t budge, only moves around so that his own blade presses against Cas’ chin. 

Wrong move. 

Dean zaps behind the pair. The _crack_ the guy’s bone makes as it breaks when Dean bends his arm behind his back at an unnatural angle is music to Dean’s ears. Cas stumbles free and Dean presses the blade in, just an inch to make the angel whimper in pain. 

“Who’re you working for?” he snarls, twisting the weapon just enough to draw a scream for the asshole. 

“I could get my own blade, see how loud you can scream for me, huh? What do ya say?” 

The angels starts trembling, his breath messed up as panic courses through his body. 

“Metatron!” he gasps, which seems to bring Castiel back to reality. 

“His reign is over.”

“He shall rise again, Castiel, and when he does, he shall cleanse Heaven from the likes of you!”

“And that’s enough,” Dean decides, wielding the angel blade and dragging it across the man’s throat, then tightening his grip again, glancing at Castiel who’s watching with wide eyes. 

“Well, come on, Cas, your grace ain’t gonna recharge itself!”

Dean figures he’ll kill that douchebag anyway; might as well help Cas out before he does. And okay, maybe he’s trying to show Cas that he’s not a complete monster, that there’s still reason for Cas to stick around, even if Dean doesn’t deserve it anymore. Hell, it’s not like he ever deserved any of what Cas did. 

It takes an eternity until Cas steps closer and resisting the urge to just slaughter the guy gets increasingly harder but then, finally, Cas is in front of them and breathes in. 

Dean watches as the misty silver light leaves the body he’s holding and he concentrates on Cas’ true form, which erupts in such brightness that it blinds Dean for a moment. 

Cas vessel downright glows; he looks stronger, too. With a grunt, Dean rams the angel blade into the guy’s throat from the side, relishing the feeling of it, then pulls the weapon out, splattering blood. Some of it lands on his face and it’s the most welcome sensation. 

The angel falls to the ground and Castiel’s eyes are still staring into his. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m not a monster,” Dean blurts. It’s easier around Cas, remembering his emotions, remembering his human side, which makes the entire experience even more painful. 

“You have the potential.”

“Cain said I could hold onto my human side.”

“Do you want to?”

“What kinda question’s that? Course I want to, Cas!”

“You might not have a choice! I can see your true form and you have become a demon, no one can deny that.”

“Well, I’m still me in here,” Dean insists. “Alright, so I like killing! And maybe all that feeling crap’s harder now, but I can do this. I’m a hunter and that ain’t gonna change.”

Cas regards him intently, tilting his head in that familiar way of his. “What about Crowley? He is going to want you as his servant.”

“Well, Crowley can shove that up his ass,” Dean grumbles. 

However, Cas has always been able to read him better than no one except Sam and he catches the note of insecurity and latches onto it like a damn dog with a bone. 

“What happened?” 

Rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh, Dean relates the story of them conjuring Crowley and the ultimatum Sam managed to get. 

“So yeah, maybe we’ll reach a compromise… But I won’t be anyone’s lapdog.” He needs Cas to believe him because if Cas looses faith in him, what’s left? Sam might pretend to be completely convinced, but Dean can tell he’s worried too. 

“You will have to prove you’re sincere.”

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean snaps, and oh so done with this conversation. “Like I don’t know what’s gonna happen when I lose control?”

Emotions flicker across Castiel’s face, too quick for Dean to name them, before his expression becomes bland, noncommittal. 

“Then we have an understanding.” 

Dean nods curtly. He’s angry and pissed off, so he zaps away, back to the bunker, before Cas can say another word. 

Which means he isn’t there anymore to see Castiel’s face crumble and his eyes fill with worry and dread. 

*

To say Sam is exhausted might be an understatement. All he wants is to sleep in a real bed for the rest of the day, but Dean is being an insistent jerk, clearly riled up from the fight and his conversation with Cas and eager to meet with Crowley. So Sam fixes the devil’s trap and begins the ritual, even though they still have a while until the 48 hours are up. 

When the King of Hell appears, he raises an expectant eyebrow at Dean and him. 

“Listen,” Dean tells him, “you won’t get a lapdog out of this. I might not get around helping you a few times, but as far as everything else’s concerned, I’m still a hunter.”

“Can’t say that I’m surprised.”

Dean obviously expected more of a fight and falters slightly. “So? We got a deal?”

Crowley glances at Sam, then back to his brother. “I’ll allow you to remain on Earth as long as you follow my orders and execute them without detours.”

Sam opens his mouth to object but the demon anticipates his objection and talks over him. 

“Yes, moose, only killing those who deserve it, no wreaking havoc on innocent bystanders, yadda yadda, I get the gist. You hold up your end of the bargain, I hold up mine.”

“Great. You wanna kiss on it?” Dean jokes, shifting from one foot to the other, still a bundle of restless energy after being awake for over two days straight. 

Crowley merely smirks. “A mere thought would suffices and you’re down in the pit. I have enough on you to make you dance to my tune.”

Dean glares while Sam and Crowley share a look and Sam bends down to undo the devil’s trap. 

“I look forward to a great working relationship. I’ll send over the fruit basket within the next few days along with your Welcome To Hell newsletter.” 

With that, Crowley’s gone and Sam can’t even tell anymore if he was joking or not. 

He’s too tired for this, an opinion his body apparently shares because he yawns impressively. A couple of hours in the Impala simply aren’t cutting it anymore. 

“Why don’t you head to bed, Sammy?”

“What’re you gonna do all day?”

Dean shrugs. “Go down to the range. Try out my new fighting skills. You know, that teleportation thing’s really come in handy with those two angels.”

Sam smiles weakly and heads towards his room. Just as he enters the room, Dean appears suddenly in front of him. 

“Dean!”

“Forgot to tell you goodnight, Sammy,” he smiles innocently. 

Sam hangs his head but he can’t help chuckling. Either it is the exhaustion or he is has lost his mind completely, but maybe having a demon brother won’t be as bad after all. 

It beats having no brother at all any day. 

*

Castiel can’t quite bring himself to return to Heaven just yet. His mind is too full, too many scenarios playing themselves out inside his head, to many possible outcomes, too many involving Dean giving in to the darkness inside – 

“Darling, darling… One would think you’d drop the kicked puppy look now that your merry band of angels are back upstairs.”

“Crowley,” Castiel growls, turning towards the voice with a glare. 

“Oh, someone’s not happy to see me. Let me guess – you heard about my new employee of the month?”

Before Castiel can rein in his impulses, he charges at the demon and slams him into the wall, one arm pressed against his throat. 

“You will not harm him.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Crowley smirks at him, not at all perturbed. “You have nothing to offer me, Castiel.”

“We have reclaimed Heaven. It is only a matter of time before the Host is back to full power and we will crush you like the bug that you are.” 

Castiel is breathing fast, hardly hears anything over the blood rushing in his ears. And Crowley has the audacity to laugh in his face, so Castiel puts more weight behind his grip and crushes Crowley’s windpipe a bit more. 

“Keep going, Cas, you’re making me all hot and bothered,” the demon croaks and the reality of what he is doing finally catches up with Castiel. He pushes off but doesn’t step back – he is not done with Crowley yet. 

However, before he can put his next threat into words, Crowley cuts him off. 

“Let me guess: I am not, under any circumstances, allowed to pull Dean into Hell, or you and your posse will get him out again? Him and what soul, Cas? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen his true form. Those skeletal features, really get my blood flowing, you know? Oh, and those horns!”

“I will save Dean. And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

His threats do nothing but rolls off of Crowley who laughs in his face. “Before or after your new bout of grace smokes out? No, no, Castiel. This round goes to me and guess what? It’s the final round. Game over, darling. Your little human is gone and I can’t wait to have him do my dirty work. The great Dean Winchester, the righteous man, killing in the name of Hell while his little angel with the broken wings watches from the sidelines, crying his heart out ‘cause he can’t do anything about it.”

Castiel screams, blind with fury and hurt and all these terrible emotions, and lunges forward but the King of Hell has long since vanished, probably to the depths from where he came. 

Every drop of energy drains from Castiel’s body, leaving his shoulders slumped and his chest hallow. He tries to deny it, yet no arguments will stand. Crowley is right – he won. Castiel failed, failed after all he has done, after enduring death and purgatory, after learning what it means to be human. 

Castiel wasn’t lying when he told Sam he knows now that life it precious. Life is short. And Castiel had hopes – plans even. He swore to himself he would do something, in a moment of emotional despair during his three months spent as human. That if he won in the end, reclaimed Heaven, he would take a step he hadn’t been brave enough to take before.

Now his hopes are in pieces, shattered by an ancient blade and drowning in the blackness of a cursed soul. 

_“I’d rather have you, cursed or not.”_

The memory floats to the surface of Castiel’s mind every time he hears or even thinks that word, no matter the situation. 

It doesn’t serve to make him any less emotional, yet at the same time, he feels a pang of something else. Doubt. Doubt in his own decision. 

Is he making a mistake thinking that all is lost? Thinking Dean can’t be saved, even if the man himself still believes he stands a chance against the abyss?

Doesn’t he owe it to Dean to give him the benefit of the doubt? Or is this his own selfish desire talking, unable to let go of the man who made him fall on so many different levels? 

The more Castiel thinks on the issue, the dizzier his head becomes. His thoughts are a mess, circling around the same moments of the past few years again and again until he can’t deny the fact that he won’t be able to give up. His mind and what is left of his old angelic self might be telling him to let go given the state of Dean’s soul, yet it can’t override one simple truth. 

Dean may be a demon. He will kill. But he is also the righteous man, earth’s hero… and all that Castiel has in this world. 

*

The same hooded man finds himself in another Buddhist temple, the cave in ruins underneath the ground, long given up by the monks. 

Nothing out of the ordinary stands out as he traces the inscriptions and patterns on the walls, inspects the floor and the ceiling. 

The man huffs and turns around, readying himself to fly off once more when his eyes land on a strange pattern on the wall. 

Up close, it won’t be noticed, but from afar he can discern the shape of a protective sigil, Enochian in origin. 

The hooded figure raises an arm, causing the first layers of stone to crack and fall to the ground in a cloud of dust. 

He approaches the alcove his actions have revealed and picks up something hidden inside. 

The tabled, unreadable to every eye safe one, glows when he touches it, illuminating hazel eyes and a satisfied smirk. 

Finally. 

*

_Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not_  
 _He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got_  
 _Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please_  
 _Don’t take that sinner from me_  
 _Oh don’t take that sinner from me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caves were actually a part of Buddhist architecture, dating back to 100 BCE, at least that’s what my research told me. I hope I didn’t completely misrepresent it!
> 
> Let’s play a game – who wants to guess who the hooded man is? *winks*
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kudos and subscriptions! You’re amazing!


	4. Episode 3 - Sex Sells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters’ first post-transformation case could not be any weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but I really wanted to finish my 200k [Harry/Draco rape recovery fic](http://archiveofourown.org/series/51344) I’ve been working on for over a year. And RL is kind of demanding at the moment… But now it’s back to this one!
> 
> Also, lots of the fun things the brothers get to do because of Dean’s new demon status are inspired by tumblr posts ([for example](http://celestial-sexhair.tumblr.com/post/86461719285/a-list-of-things-to-keep-me-alive-during-hellatus)). 
> 
> And if anyone knows of a floor plan for the bunker, pretty please tell me because I couldn’t find much… So excuse any inconsistencies regarding the batcave’s layout!
> 
> This chapter’s case was inspired by the Teen Wolf fic “[This is Ridiculous](http://archiveofourown.org/works/541020/chapters/961691)” (which is definitely worth reading if you like Sterek!).

There is a light breeze blowing through the streets of Albuquerque. The night sky is clear so Damien can see the stars when he looks up from the sidewalk while he is on his way home. 

He can’t keep himself from smiling but that’s mostly due to Janette, his girlfriend, whom he spent the past hour kissing. 

Other guys his age would have tried to cop a feel but he’s not one of them. Janette isn’t ready, she told him that, and maybe he could do with a bit more time before they rush into this whole sex thing as well. 

There is a noise in the bushes to his right and Damien freezes, a lock of dark hair falling into his face. He jerks his head to get it out of his eyes just when he sees the bush move and a sliver of something white shine through the branches. 

That is all the warning he gets before a horse jumps out from behind the bushes and he takes off, running down the street. 

The animal gives chase and even though Damian knows fuck-all about horses, he is pretty sure they shouldn’t run after teenage boys. 

A glance over his shoulder makes his eye bulge. The horse is all white and there is a horn on its forehead. A freaking horn. 

Damien is distracted and doesn’t see the wall ahead of him. It hurts when his chest collides with firm brick, though it hurts even more when the beast’s horn pierces his back and rams right through his torso, pinning him to the wall. 

Someone screams in the distance, maybe a witness but it’s not like it matters. All help will come too late. 

_What the actual fuck_ , is Damien’s last thought before the lights grow dark around him 

*

*

“Be right back, Sammy!” Dean calls out, already running up the stairs in the other room. 

“Where’re you going?” Sam shouts back from the library, looking up from his laptop to see Dean is already out the door. He heaves a sigh and keeps scrolling, hoping that today’s the day they finally find a case. 

A week has passed since their conversation with Crowley and nothing has come up. It’s almost like the supernatural has taken a holiday until Dean learns the ropes of his new form of existence. Castiel hasn’t been in touch either, which Sam tries not to be hurt by. 

His eyes fall on the fruit basket on the middle library table, the “Welcome to Hell” card still attached to the bow. He has no idea whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of it or throw the thing out. He doesn’t trust Crowley as far as he can throw him and won’t risk being poisoned by an apple. 

Exactly eleven minutes after Dean left he returns, carrying something that looks suspiciously like – 

“Pie? Seriously, Dean?”

His brother merely smirks. “From that great place in Denver, Sammy, they make the best pie in America and I figured I need to practice those teleporting abilities, might as well do something useful with it. Brought you one of these organic vegan muffin things you liked last time we were there.”

He thrusts the small paper bag into Sam’s hands and teleports away, presumably into the kitchen because why the hell should Dean walk anywhere when he can just zap there. Sam swears under his breath. One of these days he’ll just put his childish brother in a devil’s trap in the garage so he’ll stop annoying him. 

Dean appears next to him, stabbing at the pie with his fork. “What’cha reading, Sammy?”

It speaks volumes about how often Dean has pulled that stunt that Sam doesn’t even flinch anymore at his brother’s sudden appearance. 

“Something about the negative effects of too much sugar on dental health.”

“Come on, it’s not like I get cavities. Jesus, Sammy, I don’t even gain weight anymore, I’m frozen in time and it’s awesome.” He takes a large bite of cherry pie to prove his point. “Don’t be a bitch and eat your damn muffin.”

Sam wants to bang his head against the tabletop, though he manages to restrain himself, grabbing the bag instead. The muffin tastes as amazing as he remembers. 

He switches to another tab on his laptop and almost chokes on his last bite. 

Dean pauses, fork in hand, and narrows his eyes as Sam skims the article, mouth falling open. 

“Do we know anything about unicorns?” Sam asks and now it is Dean’s turn to choke on his food. 

“No, ‘cause there’s no such thing.”

“Well, there’s a body in Albuquerque that begs to differ.”

Dean snatches the computer and takes in what Sam found. “Yeah, ‘impaled by a horn-shaped object’ could be tons of stuff, ain’t meaning it’s a fucking unicorn.”

Sam spins the laptop around again, clicking on another tab and showing Dean the screen. 

“Witness says it was a unicorn.”

“That homeless chick was probably high as a kite!”

Sam rolls his eyes and searches for similar deaths in the same area and comes up with five in total, another man apart from Damien Peterson, as well as three women. Respectively girls – all the victims are between 15 and 24. 

He watches as his brother reads the reports, cherry pie forgotten at his elbow. 

“It’s worth checking out.”

“Yeah, but unicorns? Aren’t they supposed to be pure and have a thing for virgins or some shit?”

Sam pushes his chair back and gets up. “We’ll find out. Come on, let’s pack. If we leave now we can make it there before midnight.”

Dean groans but the slump of his shoulders tells Sam he has already won. 

They hit the road twenty minutes later. 

*

Six hours into their eleven-hour drive, Dean gets back from paying for gas carrying a red car refresher in the shape of a tree. 

Sam only needs to raise an eyebrow before Dean snaps, “Not one word!”

So Sam bites his tongue, trying and failing to keep the grin off his face as Dean fastens the tree to the rearview mirror and the scent of cherry slowly but surely cancels out the faint note of sulfur that has started to fill the car. 

*

Setting up camp in a cheap motel has a soothing kind of familiarity about it and knowing they are actively hunting things and saving people is enough to put Sam’s mind to rest, at least for a couple of hours. 

They slip back into their suits and their roles as Agent Araya and Holt easily enough. Dean is gruff and direct as always while Sam tries his best to make the witnesses and the victims’ families comfortable with his “puppy eyes” as Dean calls them in a tone that is half fondness, half mockery. 

They fail to unearth another person who actually saw the unicorn except the homeless woman who smells like a distillery when they question her and won’t talk before Sam slips her a twenty. However, they quickly find out what all victims had in common. 

“It’s his birthday this week,” Stan sobs, clutching his tissue. He is 19, a student with a part time job at a pizza delivery place and his own apartment, which is where Sam and Dean are currently sitting, Sam shifting uncomfortably and wondering if he should offer the guy another handkerchief, Dean, obviously bored, walking around the room. 

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Sam says, heartfelt. There is a picture on the side table, showing Stan arm in arm with Alec Mallory, their latest victim. 

“We were waiting, you know,” Stan continues between shaky breaths. “For his 16th. Not our choice but it was the only way Alec’s parents allowed me to date him.”

“Why 16?” Dean asks from the other side of the room where he is inspecting the bookshelf. 

“Consent laws,” Sam explains at the same time Stan speaks up. 

“Wait, isn’t the age of consent in New Mexico 17?”

“Yeah, but not for same-sex relations,” Stan says before blowing his nose. 

Sam can practically feel the penny drop and his head snaps up, eyes looking to catch Dean’s. From the look on his brother’s face, he figured it out as well. 

*

“So whatever’s killed those people is targeting virgins?”

“Yeah, without any apparent order,” Sam grouses. “Only Damien, Alec and Patricia had partners, the other two girls were single when they died.”

“And it can’t be that they’re straight because then the thing wouldn’t have killed Alec.”

“So what, the unicorn’s simply strolling around, waiting for the first virgin to cross its path?”

“Damn it, Sammy, it’s not a fucking unicorn!”

“Well, what if it is?”

“Then you get to say I told you so, you happy, bitch?”

“Jerk.”

Sam manages to keep up his serious expression another moment longer before he bursts out laughing. Dean joins in seconds later and it sounds sincere, not just like Dean is faking it.

*

In the end, it’s Dean who finds the second link between the victims (unfortunately only after a fourth girl was found with a horn-shaped hole in her chest): They all attended an open-air concert of a band called “Black Unicorns”. 

“You’d think with a name like that they’d be something special, not some lame-ass mainstream synthetic shit show,” Dean complains while he is surfing through the band’s YouTube cannel on his bed and Sam is trying to find a way to trap or kill the actual beast. “Found anything?”

“Unless we’re using a virgin as bait, I’ve got jack.” 

“So let’s go with that plan.”

Sam is rarely aware of pulling what Dean calls a ‘bitchface’ but right now he does it with intent. 

His brother only looks more confused. “We wouldn’t let the thing kill her, and hey, if she’s hot I can save her from future unicorns.” Sam continues to glare. “What? Not having sex’s clearly dangerous! It’s our duty as hunters to help – where’s that righteous spirit of yours, Sammy!”

“Shut up and keep looking at videos.”

“But the music sucks –“

“Don’t you dare mute it, you might miss something.”

With an eye roll, Dean returns his attention to the laptop screen. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean says it in a shocked whisper and Sam is behind him immediately, trying to see what Dean is seeing in the concert video. 

It was obviously filmed with a phone from someone in the audience and the picture is shaky and mostly unclear, sometimes too bright because of the sun shining down. Sam holds his breath as his brother rewinds the video and then pauses it at a moment the camera pans across the crowd. 

In the distance, apart from the masses, stands a lonely figure. An awfully familiar lonely figure with sandy hair and a mischievous smirk. 

Son of a bitch, indeed. 

*

Dean senses the archangel coming before he has fully teleported into their motel room and once he has materialized, Dean has retrieved his blade and is pressing the tip against Gabriel’s throat. 

Because it is Gabriel, in the flesh, and a look at his angelic form proves it. It’s weird as hell how he can just tell shit like that, but he can. 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Dean growls, feeling his eyes darken and relishing the effect this has on the trickster, who blinks in obvious shock. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last longer than a second before he is back to his default smirking expression. 

“Is that a way to greet an old friend?” 

“It’s really you?” Sam asks and Dean spares him a glance and a brief nod to confirm it. 

“You miss me?” Dean presses in harder until the shiv is scraping skin. “Woah, hold up, demon boy!”

“Tell us why you’re here and how or I’ll slit your throat and see if you’ll come back from that,” he growls, almost hoping Gabriel will be stupid enough to actually let it come that far, but Gabriel has never been stupid. 

“Okay, okay, don’t get your sulfur-riddled panties in a twist!” Then the angel pointedly looks down, wiggling his eyebrows at Dean. 

“Let him go,” Sam intervenes and only then does Dean step back, giving Gabriel some room. 

“Jeez, the rumors don’t even come close to the real thing, huh?” When he gets no reaction from neither Sam nor Dean, Gabriel sighs and squares his shoulders. “Alright, here’s the thing: I was dead but then I made a deal with Metatron back when he was God and needed me, so now I’m back!” He throws his hands up and the gesture is enough to irritate Dean even further. 

Gabriel must have sensed it for he quickly sobers up and abandons his forced cheeriness. 

“Why are you here?” Sam approaches and Dean smothers the urge to put himself between his brother and the angel. 

Gabriel nods at Dean. “Curiosity. And I need some information.”

“On what?”

“Kevin Tran.”

Dean doesn’t need to look at his brother to know all the color is leaving his face. 

“He’s dead,” Dean explains, which doesn’t, apparently, come as a surprise since Gabriel is quick to argue. 

“But not gone. I need him. Where is he?” Icy silence. Dean tightens his grip on the blade, feeling the Mark on his skin pulse. “Come on, guys! We’re on the same side here! Okay, maybe Dean’s treading in more of a grey area these days but you get the gist.”

“Talk. Now.” Dean punctuates the order by mentally pressing down on Gabriel’s chest, making the man wince in pain. Biokenesis is one hell of a gift, Dean muses. 

“Jesus, it’s like that Mark gave you testosterone poisoning… Alright, but let’s get Cassie here – I ain’t gonna explain everything twice.”

Then two pairs of eyes are on him and Dean feels his stomach drop – just faintly, in the distance, but the feeling is there. With Cas, he doubts there’s any other way it could be. 

“Pray for him,” Gabriel urges, and the order draws a derisive snort from Dean. 

“Yeah, ‘cause he’ll listen to me _now_.”

“He always comes when you call,” Sam says softly and Dean feels something strange in his chest but can’t quite put a name to it. Gabriel, ever the child, sniggers until Sam slaps his arm to make him stop. 

“Fuck, can demons even pray?” Dean asks and he’s not even completely rhetorical about it. 

“Well, honey, you ain’t a regular demon,” Gabriel claims and yeah, he’s got a point. 

For the first time, Dean is glad that he’s not so much in touch with his softer side anymore, because he’s got no idea how he’s supposed to feel as he stows the blade in its self-made holster and fishes for words. 

“Cas, if you got your ears on and you can hear me, get your ass down here. Your brother Gabriel’s here and it’s legit, he’s alive and he wants you here, so open a portal and drop by.”

Dean feels kind of pathetic since he closed his eyes and now Sammy’s wearing that stupid look, somewhere between pity and sorrow and Dean can’t stand it. 

“So, since my dear brother’s missing his wings, we have some time. What do you wanna do until then?” Gabriel throws himself onto one of the single beds, feet on the mattress and Dean mentally shoves him off, harder than probably necessary but sue him, he’s pissed off. 

Gabriel falls off the bed and lands on the floor with a dull sound. Dean smiles as Sam’s eyes widen, probably just now catching on to what Dean did. For such a smart guy, Sammy’s really damn stupid sometimes. 

“You could call of the unicorn until Cas gets here,” Sam suggest, fixing Gabriel with a glare. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. But you gotta admit that was fun!”

Dean growls at him, hand at his blade. He’s not planning on doing anything but he likes that he can actually intimidate the trickster now. 

“Fine, I’ll stop killing virgins!” Gabriel says reluctantly, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Only did it to get your attention anyway,” he grumbles and snaps his fingers. “Unicorn gone, you happy?”

Happy might not be the word Dean would use but whatever. Sam though – he looks furious. 

“What the hell, Gabriel? Six people are dead because you wanted our attention?!” 

The archangel shrugs, arms wide, and the “duh” is practically written across his face. 

“And you said you’re on our side! That’s bullshit, or you wouldn’t have killed six innocent kids!” 

The two of them argue a little longer but Dean tunes them out because, frankly, he doesn’t care. Instead he concentrates on his surroundings, trying to sense another angelic presence. 

He is getting good at this, spent a few nights last week out in Lebanon, practicing his skills and discovering that he can sense all kinds of supernatural beings. That’s when he discovered he could harm them without touching them, too, squash their eyes, make them bleed, choke them like some Jedi from Star Wars. Or maybe that’s more of a Sith Lord quality, he muses before something tugs at the edge of his mind. 

He’s at the door immediately and opens it just as Cas is raising his hand to knock. 

“You heard me,” Dean can’t help stating the obvious. 

“Yes. I still hear you,” Cas confirms, sparing a small smile before looking past Dean and into the room where Gabriel and Sam have apparently stopped arguing. 

Dean closes the door behind Cas but the angel doesn’t advance, only stares at his brother. 

“I’m having an odd sense of déjà vu.”

“Déjà vues are always odd,” Gabriel supplies and offers a smirk. “You didn’t really think I was dead, did you?” When Cas doesn’t say anything, Gabriel groans, “Oh please, have you got no faith in me?”

“The last time I saw you was in my head and you were an illusion conjured by Metatron to trick me. Excuse me if I’m more than a little weary of you now.”

“Well, I promise if you stab me again with that blade of yours, it’ll work this time.”

Castiel considers him for a moment. “But how?”

“Made a deal with Metatron. That was really me inside your head, by the way, just not in the flesh.”

“So Metatron brought you back just to trick me?”

Gabriel nods. 

“What did you get in return?” 

Dean can see Cas’ body tense and his fingers twitch for his angel blade just in case this is nothing more than another trick. 

“Resurrection. Oh, and intel on this,” Gabriel adds with a flourish, pulling something out from the dark jacket he’s wearing over a colorful shirt. 

He must have used some kind of angel mojo on the thing, because Dean didn’t sense it. He senses it now, though, and whatever it is, it’s incredibly powerful.

“A tablet?” Sam breathes out and only then does Dean take a closer look. His brother’s right – it’s another tablet. Great, ‘cause dealing with those things always ended so well. “That’s why you’re after Kevin?”

“Yup, hot pants. Metatron flicked the switch so I gotta do with the only prophet we still have.”

“Which tablet is this?” Castiel asks, clearly in awe as he touches the stone. His fingers skate over the surface almost reverently and it’s distracting. 

“The human tablet,” Gabriel announces. “Allegedly it contains a way to reverse the stunt Metatron pulled, like a sorta failsafe Daddy built in. No clue what else is on there, before you ask.”

“We can reopen Heaven?” Cas’ voice is nothing more than a whisper. 

Gabriel nods. “Maybe we can even get you your grace back.”

Dean watches Cas swallow thickly, no doubt trying to flex his wings, which aren’t there. “But won’t reviving Kevin disrupt the natural order?”

“Honey, closing Heaven screwed things up enough for the rest of the millennium. One more resurrection isn’t gonna break the universe, Cas.”

The angels exchange glances and then Castiel turns around, looking first at Dean, then at Sam. “Where can we find Kevin’s ghost?”

Dean seeks Sam’s eyes and sees the same sentiment mirrored back at him. “We’re only telling you if you take us with you,” Dean says with finality. 

Gabriel rolls his eyes and groans. “What, you wanna play chaperones? Fine. Better if you talk to him anyway; least he knows you two idiots.”

“And you’ll give him the choice to stay dead or to keep on living when it’s all done,” Sam tells him. “Kevin deserves that.”

“Was gonna do that anyway, I’m not a total douchebag,” Gabriel grumbles before crossing his arms when Dean snorts. “So where is he?”

“With his mother,” Sam volunteers. “She took the object he was bound to. No idea where she is now.”

“Lucky for you, I’m still an all-powerful archangel. Give me one minute.”

They do, spending it in awkward silence. Dean uses the time to watch Cas out of the corner of his eyes as he stands still, brows furrowed and staring at the spot Gabriel just disappeared from. 

“Buckle up, kiddos!” Gabriel announces when he returns, accompanied with a sound of flapping wings that always make Cas’ eyes so sad that it almost hurts Dean to look. So he averts his gaze and grips the blade instead, feeling its energy course through his veins. 

“Where are we going?” Sam asks, already stuffing things in his duffle bag. 

“Holmesburg, Philadelphia – hurry up, will ya?”

“It’s a thirty hour drive,” Dean feels the need to point out. “A few minutes ain’t gonna hurt.” 

Gabriel waves his hand in front of his face. “Hello? Fully-equipped angel here! Throw your stuff in that beast of a car of yours and I’ll zap us there before you can start the engine.”

“I swear, if you get a scratch on her –“ 

“Seriously, is he always like that since that Mark mangled his soul?” Gabriel asks Sam, but it’s rhetorical so no one answers. 

Dean figures he’s just cranky because he hasn’t tried zapping the car across the US himself. 

*

“It’s just unnatural,” Dean curses under his breath. “A car’s supposed to drive, not just disappear and pop up someplace else.”

Sam chuckles, which earns him the stink eye from his brother but it’s funny and at the moment he is glad about everything that makes him laugh. 

Gabriel has traced Linda Tran to a two-story red brick house in a street full of identical red brick houses on one side and a small river and a park on the other. 

It looks nice and makes Sam wonder if they lived somewhere similar before Kevin became a prophet and lost track of his life. He has to shake his head to clear it from the memories that still fill his mind whenever he thinks of Kevin, memories that intrude on his dreams and make him wake up in a sweat. 

He feels Dean’s eyes on him. Maybe Sam’s just imagining things, but his brother seems more attentive than ever since his transformation, as if he can sense his moods. And maybe he can. 

Sam schools his expression and walks up the steps to the front door, Dean in tow. Gabriel told them to explain the situation since Linda knows and trusts them, and then get the angels. 

Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious as to how Gabriel would bring Kevin back. 

The doorbell chimes on the ground floor. It was late evening in New Mexico, yet it’s only two hours later here in Philadelphia and not too late so there is a light on somewhere in the apartment. 

Linda Tran looks exactly like Sam remembers her, if not more rested and without bruises. Her eyes widen when she sees them. 

“Hi, Linda,” Sam begins. “We need your help.”

*

Before Linda can put the coffee tray down, Kevin appears in the small but homey living room, his eyes wide. 

“What happened to you, Dean?” 

Linda narrows her eyes because she is a smart woman and Sam knows they won’t get away with lying to her and more importantly, they shouldn’t. They give Kevin and her the abridged version and Sam observes his brother as he tells the story, how he failed to kill Metatron but didn’t die. 

There is just a hint of regret in his voice and he doesn’t stumble over his words when he confesses he is a demon now. Linda covers her mouth with her hands but the gasp is still audible. 

“We’re still hunting, nothing’s changed,” Sam soothes her, adding a belated “much”. 

“But the angels reclaimed Heaven, right? I heard about it, everyone who died in the past few days didn’t end up in the veil, there are portals now,” Kevin asks, sounding cautiously optimistic. 

“Yes, but the gate’s still closed,” Sam explains. “But there might be a way. That’s why we need you, Kevin.”

Sam feels bad asking even more of the kid after he gave them so much. It can’t be helped, though. So Sam explains about the tablet and Gabriel the Archangel bringing him back to life, with the option of finally finding some peace once his task has been accomplished. 

They drink the coffee while Kevin and his mother processes the news and he catches Dean eying the Scotch in the liquor cabinet across the room with. Sam has a theory that demons need more alcohol to get drunk than humans, that is if the rate Dean is going through booze is any indication. 

“I’ll do it. But after that, I’m done.”

Sam looks up and finds Kevin’s jaw set and his eyes hard. Linda draws a shaky breath, undoubtedly glad that she gets another chance to hug her son, to say goodbye properly this time. 

“We’ll need the ring.” They all turn around at Gabriel’s voice, having appeared inside the house along with Cas, who nods at Kevin. 

A lesser woman would have been intimidated by an archangel standing in her living room, yet not Linda Tran. She doesn’t offer the newcomers anything, only goes to retrieve the ring from another room. 

“You’re the one who can bring me back?” Kevin wonders, eyebrows raised.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Gabriel shoots back with a cocky grin. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime?”

“No more bad porn with you in it!” Dean interjects, to which Gabriel responds with dramatically clutching at his chest. 

“You wound me, sweet cheeks.”

Sam exchanges a look with Castiel, who seems equally bemused. 

In the end, Kevin’s resurrection is as impressive as Sam thought it would be. Gabriel takes the ring in one hand and puts the other over Kevin’s ghostly head. He crashes the ring but seems to be tethering the prophet to this realm for Kevin doesn’t disappear. He flickers and then starts glowing, the image terribly similar to the one stuck in Sam’s head when Gadreel smote him with Sam’s hands. This time, however, Kevin’s eyes remain intact. His mouth opens in a wordless scream and Linda steps forward but Sam holds up a hand to stop her. 

Everyone, including Dean, has to cover their eyes when the light seemingly explodes and when Sam blinks his eyes open again, Kevin is still there, seemingly solid, and smiling broadly. 

He moves forward to hug his mother who sheds a few tears and then Kevin is on Sam who feels like the wind was knocked out of his lungs. It takes a moment but then he hugs back, reassuring himself that Kevin is alive and breathing after all. 

It is a brilliant feeling and it even manages to fill the hole in Sam’s chest a little. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Dean says pointedly and Sam doesn’t even need to open his eyes to see the “no Chick flick moments, damn it” face his brother’s sporting. 

“Back to the bunker?” Sam suggests and Dean, Cas and Gabriel nod in assent. 

“Everyone board the mother ship and I shall bring us back at warp speed!” Gabriel announces, which earns him a chuckle from Cas. Gabriel stares at him, horrified. Even Sam has to admit that the angel’s newfound knowledge of pop culture is a little creepy. 

“Did you get that reference?”

“Yes.”

“Holy crack on a cracker, I leave you alone for a bit and you screw with the order of the universe… How did that happen?” Gabriel looks at Dean accusingly. “Late night movie marathons? Cozy cuddling sessions at HQ?”

Dean growls but there is the faintest hint of a blush coloring his ears. Sam files that information away with a grin.

“It was a ‘gift’ from Metatron,” Cas explains, seemingly unfazed by Gabriel’s insinuations. 

“Oh, don’t you dare spoil Dowtown Abbey for me, brother, I’ve just started watching it and I ain’t lying this time!”

“I won’t. I’m also aware of the negative attitude most people have towards spoilers.”

“Good,” Gabriel grouses, finally walking out. 

Meanwhile, Kevin is hugging his mother goodbye. “I’ll come back when my work is done to see you one more time, okay?”

Linda nods tightly and pulls him against her chest again. She watches as they all scramble into the car, Dean in the driver’s seat and Sam riding shotgun while the angels and Kevin are in the back. Kevin waves back at his mother until Gabriel teleports them out of Holmesburg and back to Lebanon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Gabriel’s back! Because I refuse to believe that the writers brought him back for one meager episode after four seasons without plans for more. Besides, there are so many more possibilities with Gabriel in the mix!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed his return as much as I did :) Let me know what you think!
> 
> I’m toying with the thought of giving Sam a love interest. However, that love interest would be an OFC since all his previous ones are either boring (Amelia), not really suitable for the plot (Dr. Roberts) or dead (meh).  
>  **What do you think:** How would you guys feel about a badass OFC? I feel really bad for Sam because he never has any luck in the relationship department and I really hope season 10 will bring him someone. 
> 
> PS: The names Agents Araya and Hold are taken from members of the group “Slayer”. I consulted google maps and chose Enfield Ave in Holmesburg for Linda Tran’s new home. The small river is Pennypack Creek, for those of you who’d like to know ;)


	5. Episode 4 - The Beast Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin starts working on the tablet. The first job Dean receives from Crowley seems easy but comes at a personal price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for detailed description of violence! Seriously, guys, it’s not pretty. 
> 
> Unbeta'd as of now so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Title from “Demons” by Imagine Dragons (which is sort of becoming my unofficial soundtrack for the Destiel part of this fic).

It almost feels like nothing has changed. The chairs in the library are still far from comfortable, the computer lights are still shining and blinking, and Kevin’s old room is just the way it was before he died. 

Yet there are small changes he notices around the bunker – there is more alcohol in the fridge and the cabinets for one. For another, the faint smell of sulfur hangs in the air and sets Kevin’s teeth on edge because he learned that sulfur means demons. However, it is only Dean, striding right into the kitchen after he puts his car into the garage while Kevin sets up his workplace in the library. 

As a ghost, Kevin was able to see Dean’s true form, tall and skeletal with horns and body armor. It was quite intimidating and Kevin would have been seriously scared if it hadn’t been for the soft flickering of light that disrupts Dean’s true form. 

It is past midnight already, though Kevin is full of energy, which makes sense given that he has just been resurrected. 

_Resurrected_. It’s hard to wrap his mind around the thought. 

“You hungry?” Sam asks and Kevin finds himself nodding eagerly. Sam turns around towards his brother and the two angels, apparently about to ask them the same question until Sam falters slightly. He shakes his head and heads to the kitchen, passing Dean by who is carrying a bottle of amber liquid. 

“The spells around this thing are genius,” Gabriel gushes as he inspects the bunker. “I wouldn’t be able to locate this thing even now that I know where it is!”

“Ain’t no getting in without a key,” Dean explains, slumping in a chair and putting his feet up on the table. 

Gabriel starts pestering Castiel for a tour then. The angel only relents after Gabriel starts whining and Kevin can’t stop laughing at the sight of an archangel acting like a five-year-old but from what he heard about the trickster, that’s apparently his default setting. 

Sam brings sandwiches soon thereafter and Kevin does what he does best – interpret the Word Of God, loosing himself in the task at hand, trying to figure out where the information they need might be located.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Dean gets up and pats his brother’s back. 

“Why don’t you catch some shut eye, Sammy?”

Sam looks tired but still opens his mouth to protest. However before he can get a word in, Dean’s phone starts ringing. Kevin tries to see the screen and the caller ID but he doesn’t catch it, yet judging from Dean’s defensive stance it isn’t a conversation Dean looks forward to. 

“What do you want?” Dean says by way of greeting. “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

A few seconds of silence and suddenly Dean doubles over, gasping in obvious pain. Everyone is moving at once but Sam is nearest and on his knees next to his brother immediately. 

“Fine, fine, be right there,” Dean grumbles into the phone and pulls himself up the table with a groan. 

“Dean?” Castiel asks at the same time Sam says, “Who was that?” 

“Crowley,” is all Dean answers, and Kevin can feel his blood run hot with rage. 

“What does he want?” 

“No idea, that’s what I’m gonna find out.” Dean is already moving towards the main area and the stairs but Kevin blocks his way. Well, steps into his path; it’s not like he could stop Dean, couldn’t have stopped him even before the whole Knight-of-Hell-thing. 

“Why’s Crowley calling you?” 

“Newsflash, Kevin, he’s the King of Hell and I’m the biggest muscle he has now.”

“You’re working for him?! But you’re hunters!”

Instead of explaining himself, Dean suddenly disappears. Kevin whirls around to find that Dean is already in the main area. 

“Dean, wait!” Castiel calls after him, which apparently suffices to make Dean turn. Kevin scoffs mentally. “I’ll come with you.”

Dean’s eyes soften slightly, though his jaw remains set. “I ain’t dragging you into this mess. And you’ve got your own shit to deal with upstairs.”

With that, Dean teleports on top of the stairs and is out the door before either of them can move, so Kevin rounds on the remaining Winchester. 

“What the hell, Sam?” 

“Look, you saw how he reacted. Crowley has power over Dean, could just pull him into Hell if he wanted to,” Sam explains, holding up a placating hand. “We made a deal with him, so now Dean’s gotta do some jobs for Crowley, but never anything to people who don’t deserve it.”

The information completely screws with Kevin’s image of Dean, the man who always puts up a fight even if the situation is hopeless, always doing the right thing. But, Kevin has to remind himself, he’s not that man anymore. He is a demon and he might still seem like his old self but it’s nothing but an illusion. 

“I don’t like it,” he concludes, probably stating the obvious but Sam’s eyes soften in response. 

“I don’t either.”

“No one likes that, and I guess the demon population is gonna like it even less,” Gabriel buts in, patting Kevin on the back for some reason. “Knights of Hell are feared and there hasn’t been an active one since before Cain found his love for corn… But hey, why don’t we get back to the job at hand, huh?” He gently but forcefully pushes Kevin back towards the tablet and he wants to complain yet it is why he is here after all, so Kevin sits down again. 

He throws one last glance at the door and when he looks back down, he catches Castiel’s eyes that mirror the worry Kevin is feeling. 

This can’t end well, for any of those involved. 

*

*

Dean meets up with Crowley in a seedy bar a few streets over. He’s in a shitty mood to say the least, and not only because he went a few days without ganking something ‘cause Sammy and he had to chase fucking unicorns. 

“Beer?” Crowley asks him as if they’re old drinking buddies and Dean growls, which is maybe not the best idea given what Crowley can apparently do to Dean even from a distance. 

“Just tell me what the fuck this is about.”

“Oh, something’s got your knickers in a twist… Maybe the fact that you haven’t seen blood in a few days? You yacking your guts out yet?”

Dean shakes his head but he doubts that answer will stay the same for much longer. His blood is boiling and his skin’s itching, the Mark an ever-burning presence against his forearm. 

“Good that I’ve got a job for you, then.”

“Spill.”

“My, my, your demon self really has no manners…”

“You either start talking now or I’ll cut your tongue out, you son of a bitch.”

Crowley smirks, obviously enjoying this far too much but before Dean can make good on his threat, he begins. “There’s still a few demons who are loyal to Abbadon even now that she’s gone. I know where one of these groups will be tonight. It’s your job to make them swear loyalty to me and if they don’t, you’ve got full permission to kill them. Or if you’re in the mood for a good maiming, go for it. Be creative. Express yourself. I really don’t care how you do it.”

Crowley slides a piece of paper across the bar. “This is the place. Get it done as fast as you can.”

Dean grunts but apparently it’s enough of an answer for the King of Hell who winks at him and takes his leave. 

Dean unfolds the paper and can’t deny the thrill of anticipation coursing through him. He is out of the bar immediately, his hand already on the blade handle. 

*

“Have fun and don’t hesitate to call us when you need anything or when you find anything,” Gabriel tells Kevin while Castiel exchanges goodbyes with a tired-looking Sam. 

“You’ll come back, right?” It is an unseemly question yet Castiel hears everything Sam is not saying resonate between the lines. 

“Of course. But we have to return to Heaven. Gabriel will be an invaluable asset.” 

“Good luck, then.” 

“To you as well.” Sam smiles and Castiel finds himself returning it and pulling the younger Winchester into a hug. It makes him wonder when he will hug Dean again. 

He follows Gabriel out of the bunker, glancing around the dark alleys in the pointless hope to see the older Winchester somewhere, find out what Crowley wants him to do and if he doesn’t need help or maybe just company after all. He doubts leaving Dean alone with his bloodlust is a good idea. 

“Stop worrying so much, Cas,” Gabriel chides. “He’s beyond your reach.”

“You know that’s not true. You must have seen his true form – it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and groans. “And he’s still waxing poetry! Leave it to you to find something praiseworthy in a skeletal thing with horns…”

“Those horns were good enough for you when you needed his help,” Castiel growls, only barely restraining himself or he would have slammed his brother against the nearest wall. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s just get back upstairs, I can’t wait to see the look on everybody’s faces!” 

They find a good spot to draw the sigil yet before Castiel puts down the last line, he turns towards the other angel again. “What will happen now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Now that you’re here.” Castiel can’t bring himself to be more obvious. It would be easier to ask outright, though Gabriel is smart. He will catch on. 

And indeed, Gabriel does catch on: His eyes widen and his lips pull down into a frown. “I can’t do that, Cas.”

“You have seniority, you are the most powerful angel we have and you know what you are doing. You can lead, Gabriel.”

“I left for a reason!”

“You left because of the fighting and that’s not valid anymore. Nothing speaks against you assuming your righteous place in the hierarchy of the Host.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Gabriel whines, ever the toddler. 

“Then suck it up!” Castiel snarls, not even regretting the vulgar expression. “I tried, Gabriel, or have you forgotten? I gave my best to be the leader they wanted me to be and I failed, hurting everyone around me and making everything so much worse! You are the right one for this and you needn’t do it alone, we have great generals. But please, brother, don’t leave this burden to me.”

“No need to act so righteous around me, little bro,” Gabriel tells him with a smirk that doesn’t bode well. Of course Gabriel would see right through Castiel. “Don’t worry, I believe you meant every word of that. But I also know that your little stint as God and all that mess you left for the rest of the world to clean up ain’t the only reason you don’t wanna be in charge.”

 _Don’t say it_ , Castiel thinks, feeling his pulse spike. _Don’t say it._ For saying it makes it real, turns it into a palpable situation that exists outside of Castiel’s head. 

Gabriel sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Let’s not draw hasty conclusions, alright? Why don’t we deal with the tablet first and then, once we’ve figured out how to reopen the gates and done that, too, why don’t we wait till then to settle who’s gonna be the new boss, huh? What do ya say?” 

Gabriel flutters his eyelashes, eliciting a soft chuckle from Castiel, who is so relieved that he agrees to the suggestion. 

Castiel returns his attention to the sigil, draws the final line and watches as the stairway to Heaven forms before his eyes. 

*

_Kevin leaning over the tablet, glancing up when he hears footsteps. Dark eyes looking up to him as he asks about Dean._

_“Don’t worry about Dean. Dean will be fine,” Sam’s voice replies, sounding hollow and cold._

_He can pinpoint the exact moment when Kevin figures out something is wrong but by then, it is far too late. Sam’s arm raises by forces beyond his control and he is inwardly screaming, shouting, rattling the cage he has been shoved into, trying anything to make it stop but to no avail._

_Light spills form Kevin’s eyes and open mouth as he smokes out and falls to the floor._

_Dean, pushed against the wall while Sam rattles against the bars of his prison._

_His hands, placing a yellow slip of paper on the white shirt covering Kevin’s chest, eyes black sockets that shall never see again._

Sam wakes up screaming, drenched in sweat with his heart hammering against his chest. It takes a long moment ( _too long, way too long for a hunter_ ) to orient himself. He’s in the bunker. 

And so is Kevin. 

A look at the clock tells him it is barely five in the morning, but more than four hours of sleep would have been unusual either way. He showers and braces himself on the sink as he takes a few deep breaths because he checked Dean’s room and it was empty. Silence rings through the bunker and it sets Sam’s teeth on edge. 

He finds Kevin at his preferred table in the library, the one in the middle, and on the same side he was when Gadreel advanced on him all this time ago. The similarity sends a shiver down Sam’s spine. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks when he finally gets his voice to work. 

Kevin startles out of his trance-like state and blinks up at him. “It’s starting to come together… Morning already?”

“It counts. Coffee?”

Kevin’s entire face lights up at the suggestion. “Oh man, I missed coffee! Please!”

“When the shops open up I’ll get you something good but until then the cheap stuff in the kitchen’ll have to do.”

“The cheap stuff’s fine; I guess after months as a ghost everything tastes like premium blend…”

The comment stings even though Sam is sure Kevin didn’t intend it to. He knows Kevin doesn’t blame him for his death, but he isn’t the one waking up after a nightmare. 

So Sam does the only thing he can think of – make Kevin coffee and cook breakfast until the weight on his shoulders lessens. 

*

Dean goes about his task with eerie precision. He scouts out the place the demons are squatting, making sure all thirteen are inside before he draws a thick circle around the abandoned building in the shitty part of St. Louis, Missouri. He nicked the salt from a factory two states over that he remembers from a hunt a few years back. 

He’s really getting good at the whole teleporting thing. 

He steps across the salt line with a smirk and grips the blade tight, enjoying the rush is causes and rolling his head to work out the kinks in his neck. 

The demons are quick to react when he enters, drawing weapons and surrounding him but Dean only has eyes for their leader, a tough looking woman with a semi-automatic in her hand. The ground floor is one large space littered with chairs, sofas, tables, weapons and clothes. The entire place reeks of sulfur. 

“Crowley sent me with a message,” Dean growls in his most intimidating tone. 

“Oh, let me guess,” the woman drawls, rising from her chair. “He wants us to surrender and swear loyalty to him?”

Dean nods. 

“You can tell him to go screw himself,” she spits but pauses when she notices the smirk on Dean’s face. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says truthfully and goes to work. 

*

“Castiel, the angels are confused.” Hannah has her arms crossed in front of her chest, fixing Castiel with a stern glare after she pulled him aside from the masses. “Gabriel is an archangel – will he take over now?”

“Maybe. Nothing is decided yet, Hannah.”

“We trust in you, Castiel.”

“I’m not the leader you deserve. I’m no leader at all.”

Hannah frowns but at least she uncrosses her arms. “But can we trust him to stay? He abandoned us once, left us to fend for ourselves when we would have needed his guidance. He has a lot to prove before he will have our support.”

“I understand that, but Hannah… He left because he couldn’t stand the fighting. The tables have turned – his brothers are long dead. Believe me, this will be for the best.”

She is silent for long minutes and Castiel fears he failed once again, but then she huffs and her frown vanishes. “Fine. I shall speak to my brothers and sisters. Yet I can’t promise you they will want to follow him.”

“All I can hope for is that they consider it.” 

He dismisses her with a nod and watches her return to her desk while most of the others still fawn over Gabriel, having centuries' worth of memories and recollections to share now that they have been told about the tablet. 

Castiel heaves a sigh. He wishes Kevin would pray for him, or Sam, to give a reason to return to earth, but silence fills his head like led. 

*

Dean lets go. He’s strung so tight he’s almost at the breaking point, he’s tired and ready to jump out of his skin, so he unleashes every dark impulse inside of him, allows them to take over. 

The Mark is glowing beneath his shirt as he slices the first demon that dares attack him right in half, splattering blood everywhere. The second one looses her head while the third looses first his arm, then receives a deep cut across his throat. 

The demons glow red as they smoke out and it only fuels Dean’s aggression. He slams three more against a wall to deal with them later while he fights four more at once, moving at inhuman speed and cutting through everything that comes near him. 

He has to take some hits, one fucker breaks his nose and gets cut in half for his troubles, right across the middle so that his guts are falling to the floor in a messy heap of entrails. 

Seven down, three against the wall, two more thugs and the boss remain. 

The blade cuts through their skin like a hot knife through butter and Dean has to blink droplets of blood out of his eyes. When only the woman is left standing and charges at him, firing shots wildly, he slams her back first onto a nearby table, using his powers to chain her to it and leaves her there while he strolls at a leisurely pace towards the remaining three demons. 

Two women, one man, all trying really hard not to show their fear but Dean can see it in their eyes and taste it in the air. They reek of terror and Dean drinks it in. 

“Last chance. Crowley, yes or no?”

The guy has the audacity to spit in his face. A fresh wave of anger overcomes Dean and before he has fully realized what he’s doing, he rams his left hand through the guy’s ribcage and closes his fingers around his spine before he pulls back. Black eyes widen and look at him in horror before he splits the asshole’s skull with a well-aimed blow. 

It feels like Dean is back in Hell, implementing what Alastair taught him, only this time the power rush and the adrenaline are ten times more intense. 

The woman next to the corpse falls before she can scream, a simple knife to the heart and she glows red as the demon leaves its vessel. 

“Please, no, I’m on Crowley’s side!” the second to last victim pleads. “I’m begging you, I’ll serve him, I’ll swear loyalty, I’ll do anything!” 

“That’ll be for him to decide if he can use you,” Dean tells her coldly before finally turning towards the leader of the group who is scowling at him. He can hear the blonde woman sob in relief. 

“Crowley thinks he’s invincible now that he’s got a new lapdog, doesn’t he?” the leader snarls. “But he’s just another prick who’s got a hard-on for power, he’s not the leader we deserve!”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean growls, already annoyed by her nagging and just for that cuts her throat first, but only deep enough to snap her vocal cords. He drains her then, cutting the arteries and letting it flow to the ground and pool around his shoes. He picks her apart, limb for limb until even she is making noises, first pained whimpers then straight out cries. 

It resonates like music in Dean’s ears. 

When there’s no blood left in her body and Dean is finally satisfied with his work he buries the blade deep in her chest, watching her smoke out. 

Someone slow claps in the distance but Dean isn’t worried. He felt Crowley’s presence when he appeared several minutes ago. 

“Impressive.”

Dean jerks his head towards the last one left alive. “That chick wants to switch sides.”

“Good. Someone needs to tell the tale of your carnage, after all. You can let her go.” 

Dean does and she sags to the floor, swallowing audibly. Then Crowley whistles and Dean is confused for a moment until he hears barking in the distance, coming continuously closer until a band of hellhounds barge in. Crowley must have disrupted the salt line. Or the wind did, Dean doesn’t care. He knew he’d be finished with the goons inside before anything like that happened. 

Being able to see the hellhounds is incredibly useful because he can sidestep them since apparently they don’t care who they run over on their way to fresh entrails. 

“We done here?” he asks gruffly, wiping blood out of his eye. 

“Yes, you’re dismissed. But Dean?”

Dean has already turned to leave but looks back once more. 

“Clean up a bit. I doubt moose and the heavenly duo will be too delighted if they catch you looking like a killer from a cheap 80ies horror flick.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean waves him off and zaps back to Kansas. It’s only when he fishes the key out of his pocket that he catches a glimpse of his hands in the early morning light. 

He is literally covered in blood, head to toe, and the reality of what he just did finally dawns on him like a blow to the gut. 

Fuck. 

Dean’s knees give out and he crashes to the ground, gasping for breath but everything around him stinks of blood and death. He zaps to the nearest motel and into an empty room where he rushes into the bathroom and stops in his track when he sees his reflection staring back at him. 

He doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror. His eyes are still black, his leather jacket stained, his shirt and jeans soaked through. In his panic he doesn’t wonder if he’s capable, he just focuses on the stains and the blood and thinks them gone. 

He figures if he can teleport and slam people against walls and hurt archangels without touching them he can clean a little blood out of his clothes. It takes long, too long, so Dean flicks the shower on and steps inside, watching the water turn red and circle down the drain. 

He has no idea how long he stands there but at one point, the water clears and he dries his clothes with a thought. When he looks into the mirror again, the thing staring back at him seems more like Dean Winchester, hunter, than like Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell. 

When he reaches out to pick up his phone Dean notices that his hand is trembling. His entire body is trembling, coming down from the most intense high of his life. 

He is a mess on the bathroom floor, shaking like a leaf and immensely glad that he managed to ditch Cas. He must never ever see Dean like this. 

Dean focuses on Cas and Sam and Kevin, on all the good memories, things that make him feel human and not like the monster he turned into tonight. It takes time but eventually the tremors subside and Dean feels ready to stand up again. 

The high is gone and he is left in its wake, strangely sated as if something inside of him fed on the blood and mayhem. A small part of Dean already worries about how long it’s going to last and when he’ll need his next kill but maybe Crowley has more work coming his way and Dean will never have to worry Sam about it. Or Cas. 

Dean shudders. Cas made it perfectly clear what he’ll do when Dean goes off the deep end and Dean doubts Cas will believe that he’ll come down from the high again should he ever see him during one. 

A key turns in the lock, pulling Dean out of his head and back to reality. Before the staff or cleaning lady or whoever was at the door even get inside, Dean is long gone, letting himself into the bunker with steady hands. 

*

“Dean!” Sam can’t stop himself from calling out when he hears his brother’s familiar footsteps on the stairs. 

“Yeah?”

“You okay?” 

“I’m fine, Sammy.” 

Sam bites back his retort, like he always does when Dean uses that particular phrase. Dean’s never fine, even though he sure looks it. There is some bruising on his face but it has already started to fade. He isn’t walking strange or even limping. In fact, he looks better than Sam has seen him for days. 

Before he can say anything else, Dean’s eyes fall on the four Starbucks cups and the paper bags on the library table. 

“What the hell you getting that fancy shit for, Sammy, we’ve got perfectly good coffee down here.”

Sam shrugs and jerks his head at Kevin who is still crouched over the tablet, head resting on his arm. Understanding dawns on Dean’s face and he drops it. Almost. 

“There better be something left for me, bitch,” he grouses as he sheds his leather jacket and grabs the paper bag. 

It’s so typically Dean that Sam feels the corners of his mouth twitch.

Now that Dean’s back, Sam finally gives into his need for a run and when he returns an hour later, Kevin still hasn’t moved but the papers strewn around him have more notes on them. Sam gets a bottle of water and when he returns, Kevin actually looks up, trance broken, and sighs contentedly. 

“I think I’ve got enough to start us off.”

Sam smiles and downs the water bottle as Kevin awkwardly calls for Cas and Gabriel. Sam lets them inside and by the time they are all looking at Kevin who is standing and clutching his notes, Dean strolls in from the lower levels. Probably got some shooting practice in, Sam muses. 

“Dean!” Castiel sounds as worried as Sam felt this morning. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Cas, we ain’t gathered here for me.”

“What did Crowley want?”

“Scare some shithead still mooning over Abbadon, now let the Prophet speak.”

Sam notices how Dean doesn’t really avoid the question, so his reply must be true yet Sam can’t shake the feeling that there is a lot more to the story than this. He meets Castiel’s eyes across the table and finds his own worries reflected back at him. 

“So, kiddo, hit us,” Gabriel urges, pointedly ignoring the non-verbal conversation between his brother and Sam. 

Kevin runs a hand through his hair. “Well, I haven’t got much yet, but I found the counter spell you need. It has three steps as well, and they have to be completed in sequence. I’m not too sure about what exactly you need to do with it in the end, but the first step is capturing the snake of Eden.”

Silence falls between them. 

“Wait, you mean the actual snake? The snake that tempted Eve?” Sam asks, just to be certain. It’s not like anything can surprise him anymore. 

Kevin nods. “Part of it’s needed for the spell, maybe the heart or the blood, it hasn’t revealed itself to me yet…”

“Probably only will once we have it,” Gabriel chimes in, then huffs. “Well, could be worse.”

“Where can we find the snake?” Castiel asks before Sam has a chance to. “Purgatory?”

Dean groans and Sam tenses but Gabriel, fortunately, shakes his head. 

“Nope, snake was banished too. Last I heard it’s still stuck in Mesopotamia. Some of the ancient peoples worshipped the thing, thought it has some special powers just ‘cause our dear brother Luci chose it as his vessel for the day.”

“And we need to capture it?” Castiel asks, looking at Kevin, who nods. “Any details on how we will manage that?”

Kevin shrugs. “But I figure if you take Dean with you, it won’t be a problem.”

“What, I’m a fucking snake charmer now?” 

“Oh, there ain’t nothing you can’t charm, big boy,” Gabriel teases with a smirk. “Come on, chop chop, pack a bag, up an’ at’em! We’ve got a snake to catch!”

“Just ‘cause you throw a ton of catch phrases at us won’t make us move faster,” Dean grouses but he zaps away nevertheless. 

Sam hesitates, glancing from the angels to Kevin. “I guess it’s better if I stay here. I’ll only slow you down.” 

It’s merely a partial truth – he is human, after all, and needs to sleep, eat and is more easily wounded in a fight – but part of him needs to keep close to Kevin. This time he won’t let anything happen to him. 

“You can go with them, Sam, it wouldn’t be the first time I’m alone in the bunker.”

“Then who’ll make a coffee run when you’re in need of caffeine?” Sam keeps his tone light, flippant, and after a moment Kevin smiles. 

“Guess you have a point.”

“Alright, that’s settled,” Gabriel announces. “Get your demon ass moving, Winchester!” he hollers down the hall and suddenly, Dean appears behind him. 

“Boo!” he says and even succeeds in making Gabriel flinch a little. Sam and Kevin laugh – even Castiel cracks a smile, but Sam can see the longing in his eyes. The lack of wings really has to be dragging him down. 

“Oh, you’re on, Winchester!” Gabriel shouts, teleporting away but Dean is hot on his… heels? Sam shakes his head, chuckling at the sight of his big brother regressing to pre-school age. 

The game continues until Gabriel teleports right behind Castiel, who has time for half an eye roll before Dean barrels into him. Dean has to clasp Castiel’s shoulders to steady himself and Castiel’s hands clutch Dean’s sides to break his momentum. 

Sam bites his lips as they just stare at each other for a moment, both lost for words, and he spies Gabriel smirking over Cas’ shoulder. 

“Sorry, Cas,” Dean breathes and Sam can see him swallow. 

“No worries. We should…”

“Yeah,” Dean echoes and withdraws his hands with more than a hint of reluctance. 

“Alright,” Gabriel speaks up, his voice dripping with mirth. “I’ll be sure to bring the kids back in one piece, you two keep up the good work and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That really narrows it down,” Sam drawls, earning a wink from the archangel. 

“Toodles!” He waves goodbye and teleports on top of the stairs. 

“You’ll be fine, right?” Dean makes sure and grins after both Kevin and Sam nod. “Good, ‘cause I gotta bag myself a snake.”

“Don’t bring home any stray hell hounds!” Sam calls after him. 

“Whatever, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam say out of reflex, still grinning when the door falls shut behind the trio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, what an emotional roller coaster! And some sexual tension, yay :) Also, planning spells is fun, and Gabriel being back is amazing and oh my gawd, why can’t I physically hug fictional characters because Dean really needs a hug right now… 
> 
> Fyi, my Muse is on a roll, which is why I’m updating so soon. I have so many ideas and actually **planned out this entire fic** today. Yeah^^ Only took nine hours of work ;) So there will probably be 21 chapters, aka 20 episodes and it’s going to be an epic roller coaster of hurt, comfort, angst, heartache and fun. How’s that sound?
> 
> Anyway, I live of air, comments and kudos, so let me know if I’m still capturing your interest with this?


	6. Episode 5 - Snake in a cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bringing Dean along on their hunt for the snake proves more useful than Castiel and Gabriel could have hoped for. However, success comes at a price. Meanwhile, Sam stumbles over a case in Lebanon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the amazing comments I received for the last update :) y’all are brilliant! 
> 
> Trying to come up with teasers and monster-of-the-week type things is harder than I thought, especially since I’m someone who usually fast forwards because it’s always pretty obvious what is about to go down… I’m not giving up the episodic structure, though, I can do this! *assumes-battle-station*
> 
> Also, my portrayal of Iraq is probably extremely biased. No offense is meant and please let me know if something is really off and offends nonetheless.

Clara knows she shouldn’t have stayed out this late. It’s Sunday and she has work tomorrow, but the club was on fire and that cute girl was working at the bar and kept smiling at her while Carla was dancing with her friends. 

“Hey, you need a ride?” someone asks out of the blue. The stranger is tall, muscular and if she’s being honest, rather creepy. 

“No, I don’t have far, thanks.”

She stalks of, rummaging in her purse as covertly as she can to locate the pepper spray her roommates make her take with her. She never saw the point until now because she hears footsteps behind her and speeds up her own pace, even though walking in those heels hurts after hours on her feet. 

When she looks over her shoulder, however, the guy from before is getting into a taxi and Clara releases a breath she wasn’t aware of holding. 

She hesitates at a junction. The dark alley takes ten minutes off her walk home, if not more if she hurries. She bites her lip and glances down the well-lit main road. She’s blonde and barely five foot four… 

_Screw it_ , she decides. If Buffy can do it, so can she. Besides, nothing ever happens in Lebanon, Kansas. 

She makes it to the middle of the alley before a hooded figure jumps – yeah, actually jumps – down from a fire escape above their heads, blocking her way. 

“People never learn,” a low, masculine voice drawls. 

“Maybe she though she’s tougher than she looks,” another voice chimes in, definitely feminine and Clara whirls around, coming face to face with a brunette who looks like she can break bones. 

Clara swallows, producing her pepper spray. “I’ll scream,” she threatens but her voice is shaking so she doubts it has much effect on the woman and the man. 

“She’s cute, can we keep her?” A third voice, Spanish accent, coming from above. Clara looks up and sees another one hanging off the fire escape ladder. 

“No, Carlos, we have to send a message.”

“I can do that,” Clare blurts. “I’ll do whatever you want, but just… I have work tomorrow, people will know I’m missing, I have roommates!”

“Oh, we’re counting on that,” the woman whispers, making Carla jump because the voice is right in her ear and she can feel a body against her back. 

Lips against her neck make her shudder and Clara can’t hold back the whimper that escapes her throat. 

“Not that kind of message,” Carlos comments before landing right in front of her. He brings up a hand to push a strand of hair from her neck and the woman rakes a hand into her hair from the other side, twisting her head so that Carla’s neck is bared. 

She has always wondered how she would react to her impending death. Would she scream, would she sob? As it turns out, Carla can but whimper as sharp teeth sink into her skin and pain erupts from her forearm, which Carlos is holding against his mouth. 

Carla sees the teeth, makes the connection, doesn’t believe her eyes for a moment until the third attacker comes at her with more teeth and then there’s no denying it, these are vampires and Carla is doomed. 

She sobs brokenly as the edges of her vision grow dark and then there is nothing as the world fades to black. 

*

*

“Cassie, stop whining already!”

“I just don’t understand why we need to spend so much money on a hotel room that won’t be of use since neither of us actually sleeps.”

“We need a place to set up camp, chap, that’s why.”

“But a smaller room would have done just as well, Gabriel.”

“Live a little, oh brother mine. It’s not like it’s your money.”

“Or anyone’s money,” Castiel grouses. “You can’t tell me that your trickster money is legitimate here.”

Dean snorts at Gabriel’s deer-in-the-headlights look. 

“Gabriel, we can’t just smooch off the locals, they have lives to life. They need to earn money.”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean finally chimes in but only ‘cause his head’s starting to hurt like a bitch from all the whining. “It’s part of the deal, fighting the good fight. Sammy and I’ve been living off fake or stolen credit cards since I was old enough to forge signatures.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” the angel grumbles but drops it and Dean stretches out on the hotel bed he snitched the moment they came through the door. It’s the one closest from the wall and only now Dean realizes that his caution might have been a bit redundant. Nothing that comes through that door can kill him except his own knife. 

They reached Hillah a few hours ago, scouted out the city and settled on a place to set up their headquarters. Gabriel chose Hillah because apparently it’s near the ruins of Babylon and he said that if they’re gonna get intel on the snake, they’ll get it here. 

“So, how’s this gonna work?” Dean asks the room in general. “We splitting up or sticking together?”

“Why don’t you and chucklehead go together; I don’t wanna scare my contacts.”

Dean shrugs, noting the faint jab of anticipation that comes with being teamed with Cas without even having to manipulate anyone. “Fine by me.”

“So let’s get a move on, we ain’t got all day,” Gabriel tells them and Dean laughs in his face. He probably hasn’t laughed this much in such a short period of time since… well, since the last time he massacred a few demons. Dean shakes his head – no need to dampen the mood – and returns to the conversation. 

“We do, actually.”

“Well, then use the time to put on something that’s less all-American-boy chic and more world-savvy traveller, eh?”

“Fine,” Dean says, swinging up to a sitting position on the bed and sliding off it immediately after. He grips the hem of his t-shirt (admittedly, a Metallica t-shirt might not have been the best idea) and pulls it over his head. 

Dean can feel eyes on him but when he turns, Cas glances down. And usually that would’ve been Dean’s clue to be more modest but this time around… Dean suddenly wonders why he’s always been so shy around Cas. Or maybe shy’s the wrong word – he simply never had the opportunity and now that he sees the reaction it evokes, Dean realizes he’s been missing out. 

So he makes a slight show of fishing in his duffle bag for a shirt that might allow him to blend into the background more and unearths one that’s light brown (or what Sammy calls “Beige, Dean, it’s beige!”). 

“That okay?”

Gabriel shrugs, then grins and glances over to where Cas is suddenly very interested in the contents of the bedside table. “What do you think, little bro?”

Now Cas has to turn and the way he pointedly looks into Dean’s eyes amuses Dean to no end. “It seems adequate.”

So Dean throws it on. It occurs to him that his lowered inhibitions may have something to do with him being all horned and everything now but that’s nothing he can change anytime soon, so why shy away from such an opportunity? A little bit of teasing never hurt anybody and it’s fun. 

“You got anything that’s not denim?” Gabriel musters his pants with a frown. 

“Don’t think so.”

“Well.” A sigh and a snap of the archangel’s fingers later and Dean’s wearing a pair of brown (actual brown this time) slacks. “And you too, chuckles,” Gabriel adds, snapping his fingers at him. Within the split of a second Cas has lost his holy-tax-accountant look and seems more like a plain tourist, scarf and all. 

“Alright, Crocket and Tubbs, let’s get this show on the road!” Gabriel is out the door, leaving them no option but to follow. 

“I don’t understand why he chose that reference,” Castiel states, blinking after his brother. “The comparison makes little to no sense.”

Dean snorts despite himself. Somehow it’s wrong that Cas gets their pop culture references now, but at least he fails to get the joke most of the time, so his reaction isn’t too far off from his one before Metatron shoved all that shit in his head. 

“I guess he’s just making noise for the hell of it, Cas.” Dean pats him on the back and follows the archangel. 

*

Sam inspects the fridge and the kitchen shelves warily, trying to find a combination of food that might actually pass as a normal meal. Once that is settles, he pours a cup of coffee and wanders back into the library where Kevin has fallen asleep with his head on the tablet. By the looks of it he’s drooling on it and Sam barely resists the impulse to take a picture. 

“Hey,” Sam says softly, shaking him awake. Kevin rubs his eyes tiredly. “I brought coffee?”

“You’re a life savior…” 

Kevin gulps down the hot liquid eagerly while Sam studies the kid’s notes, not that he can decipher much. “You getting anywhere?”

“Yeah, but I feel a migraine coming… We got any Advil in the bunker?”

“Sure, there’s a medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

Just then, Sam’s laptop beeps. Startled, he walks across the room to where he left it open from doing some research earlier and checks what is going on. 

The sound was a notification Sam set up to alert him should there be any autopsy reports with certain suspicious markers, like claw marks or puncture wounds around the neck. Today’s report features the latter and Sam freezes when he sees which city the body was found in. 

_Lebanon, Kansas._

“What happened?” Kevin must have noticed the look on Sam’s face. 

“Looks like we got vampires in town.”

“Oh. But they can’t find us here, right?”

“No, though the rest of the town is fair game.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, wondering if he should leave Kevin alone over this, yet when he glances at the prophet, he smiles indulgently. 

“You should go. I’m safe here and I’m sure you’ll get tired of babysitting me all day pretty soon anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. As long as there’s food in the kitchen – I’m starving…”

“Yeah, help yourself.” Sam hurries to his room, pulls off the t-shirt he is wearing and exchanges it and his jeans for one of the FBI suits still hanging in the wardrobe. He checks that he has what he needs three times, the same way he does prior to every hunt, and thanks Kevin on his way out, promising to be back soon. 

Getting to the corpse doesn’t pose a problem and Sam doesn’t need to inspect it for very long to conclude that the girl, Clara Desmond, has indeed fallen prey to a vampire attack. Judging from the puncture wounds in her neck and both her wrists it is safe to assume three of them fed off her. 

Outside the morgue, Sam dials the bunker’s spare cell they gave Kevin. 

“Sam?”

“Yeah, listen, I was right. I was gonna check out the industrial area to see if I can find their nest. Everything okay with you?”

“Yeah, pain killers are doing their job just fine. How long before I should start worrying about you?”

Sam chuckles, unable to imagine Kevin of all people going after three vampires. No offense meant to the guy, but there’s a reason Kevin is a prophet, not a hunter. 

“Four hours? I don’t know, you don’t need to worry, man. Concentrate on the tablet, okay?”

“Alright.”

Sam hangs up and slides into the Impala. 

*

What Dean learns in Iraq that afternoon is that his true form is enough to have most demons pissing their pants and then scrambling for the nearest exit. 

“We just want to ask you some questions,” Castiel would say in that unseemly way of his that would have you believe he’s innocent as a kitten. The good cop, bad cop routine works wonders, though. _More like good angel, bad demon routine, eh?_ , Dean thinks, laughing at his own joke. 

“You need to talk to Khaled, one of your guys,” the lowly demon explains hastily with a thick accent, his eyes on Cas. 

“And where to we find this Khaled?” Dean growls, making a show of moving his hand closer to his knife. 

“By the river – there’s a small park, he hangs out there sometimes, that’s all I know, I swear!” 

Dean relaxes but doesn’t ease on the frown. Cas meanwhile nods, satisfied. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Then they’re out of that dive of a bar and Dean laughs once the door shuts behind them. “Man, that was awesome, I thought the guy was gonna faint for a moment there!”

“Well, your true form can be a bit… overwhelming,” Cas comments and for all Dean knows it sounds like a compliment so he’s gonna take it as one. 

“It gets the job done. So we meet up with Gabe and check out this Khaled fella?”

“Khaled?” Gabriel looks at them flatly when they tell them what they found out. “Right, that was his name…”

“You now the guy?”

“Designated guard to the snake, yeah.”

“And you couldn’t have mentioned that before we spent three hours hounding demon bars?” 

“Well, screw you and the horse you rode in on! There’re only so many angels and so many missions I can actively keep track of,” Gabriel grouses. “So let’s go.”

The archangel grips Dean’s shoulder and Cas’ as well. A moment later they reappear in a park near a small cabin. The sun has started to set and dusk slowly settles over the land.

“Looks like he’s settled down,” Dean remarks, causing Cas to narrow his eyes. 

“Shouldn’t he be with the snake, guarding it?”

“You bet’cha,” Gabriel confirms darkly and is kicking in (metaphorically, though) the front door seconds later. 

By the time Dean and Cas catch up, Gabriel has a middle-aged Iraqi man pinned to the wall. The guy, probably Khaled, is wearing one of those long-sleeved white dresses Dean has seen around town with a matching head cover. He is pinned to the wall and looks like he is seconds away from having an aneurism. 

“Why aren’t you manning your post, soldier?” Gabriel growls and in that moment Dean remembers that he’s an actual archangel, Heaven’s most fearsome weapon. 

Khaled seems to be well aware of that fact, too, for he pales visibly. “I just – after the angels fell – I lost my connection, I had no idea what was happening, if I should still protect the site –“

“Of course you should, you dimwit!” Gabriel shoves him against the wall, finally releasing the tight grip he had on Khaled’s robes. He makes several aborted gestures, body tense with rage, and eventually simply points a finger at his fellow angel. “Listen. You’re going to take us to the site and when we got what we came for, we’re gonna take you upstairs and you’ll face your judgment, do we understand each other?”

Khaled looks pained, then. Dean knows immediately that something’s off. “What?” he snaps, drawing the angel’s attention on him for the first time and the coward actually _whimpers_. 

“I… They moved it.”

Gabriel breathes out through his nose, probably counting to ten in his head or some shit like that. “Who moved what?”

“I’m not sure… Demons. They moved the snake. I don’t know where, I was only gone for a bit because I thought I could find some information after I lost my connection and then –“

Gabriel balls his hand into a fist and for a moment Dean thinks he’ll hit the guy but Castiel places a placating hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dean feels strangely detached from it all. He doesn’t doubt that they’re gonna get to the snake eventually, and if everything fails, a few cuts with the blade will loosen everyone’s tongue. 

“Let him tell us what he knows and we shall hand him over to Hannah before we continue on our journey, brother.”

Khaled turns towards Cas with big eyes filled with gratitude, which only doubles when Gabriel mumbles in assent. 

They get a name from the guy – Rafea, supposedly in charge of the demonic snake patrol. 

*

Sam can hear voices – this has to be it. He flicks off the torchlight in his hand and pockets it, tightening his grip on the small sword he found in the bunker’s weaponry. It’s sharp and should cut through necks like butter. 

From what he can tell one of the vamps is standing near the door, probably with his back turned. If Sam’s fast he’ll make it. 

Taking a deep breath, Sam barges into the room, aiming the sword at the neck nearest to him. The man’s head rolls to the floor and Sam does a quick survey of the room. One woman, one man, teeth bared. 

“Look what the night dragged in, Carlos,” the woman sneers and the one that has to be Carlos takes a step closer. 

Sam widens his stance. 

“Sam Winchester. Took you less time to find us than we thought,” Carlos says.

“What do you want with me?” 

“Just talk. Well, originally. Now I’m famished.” Carlos smirks and his pointed teeth make it look more threatening than the thing probably is. 

“Well, I’m not on the menu tonight,” Sam snarls and launches at the guy.

Carlos ducks away and Sam is after him, keeping an eye out for when the woman will take her turn. He sees her coming and jams a needle in her neck, pushing the dead man’s blood he stole from the morgue right into her blood stream. 

After that it is easy going. Carlos looses his head shortly after she goes down screaming. 

“Why did you come here?” Sam asks her once she is tied to a battered chair Sam found in another room. “Why set up a trap for me?”

“We wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

“What rumors?”

“Those of your brother. Word on the down low is that he’s gone dark. Serves Crowley now.”

“And what were you gonna do with that information?”

“Report back to my clan.”

“And you thought you’d survive this, didn’t you?” 

She shrugs. “I got my orders.”

Sam considers her, mulling over his options. She’s a vamp and killed an innocent woman, so killing her in turn is definitely on the list. Or he could send her back to her clan, let her report… what, exactly? That Dean’s a demon but they’re still hunting? That Sam Winchester let a vampire go to spread the word? 

Sam swallows. They’re already treading shady territory with the missions Crowley has Dean carry out. Sam isn’t going to add to their ledger. 

“Too bad,” he says and swings the sword. 

He isn’t deluding himself into thinking that the news of Dean’s affiliation to Hell won’t spread, but he won’t fuel the stories that are bound to start spreading soon if he can’t help it. 

He burns the bodies right there, smashing the few intact windows to allow the smoke to clear. His suit is ruined but at least he got the job done. 

*

Dean is pacing, growing restless. His skin is starting to itch. Gabriel has been talking to Rafea, the only demon who knows of the snake’s location, for the past twenty minutes and Dean can tell she won’t budge without a little persuasion. He knows the type – tough, hardened, with more perseverance than Gabriel’s endless chatter can wear down. 

“Five minutes with her, man,” Dean asks for the third time, aware of Cas’ eyes on him. He doesn’t turn to meet his gaze, knowing fully well that he won’t like what he’d see in them. 

Gabriel’s face is expressionless when he admits defeat and nods at Dean, who can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Be right back,” he says and zaps to get some salt and holy water from halfway across the globe. 

“We can do this the easy way,” he tells Rafea, “or the hard way. I’m kinda hoping you’ll chose the hard way.”

Her eyes grow wide. “You’re a Knight of Hell?”

“Yup.”

“You working for Crowley?” 

Dean’s face darkens. “Sometimes.”

“Well, then we got a conflict of interest here, hot stuff, ‘cuz I’m here on his behalf.”

“Too bad, I ain’t taking his orders right now,” Dean shoots back and douses her in half the holy water he has. She screams, but it’s held back and Dean won’t stand for that. 

He goes to town, working her over with the little means he has. Not that he needs much. He looses himself in the task, pausing between cuts and peeling pieces of her skin off before rubbing salt in the wounds. It hurts like a bitch, he’s sure of that, has experienced it himself. The blade he uses was doused with holy water, something that does the trick every time. 

“Jabal Kumar!” she finally screams and Dean’s almost sad she broke this fast. 

“What was that, dear?” he sneers, earning himself a glare. 

“Jabal Kumar. It’s a mountain. Northeast of here. There’s a cave, you’re bound to feel it when you get near. The snake’s hidden there, but there’re guards.”

“They won’t be a problem.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, energy draining from her body. 

Dean releases his telekinetic hold on her and she slumps to the ground but Dean has already turned around. The looks he receives from Gabriel and Cas barely register – what’s more, he doesn’t _want_ them to register. He can feel the high he is riding but he still has a lid on it. He’s still in control. 

“Let’s move,” he barks and ignores the stunned glances the angels exchange. 

*

Dean buries his blade to the hilt in the first demon they encounter near the cave and strikes down the second one a moment later. There is no urgency, no desperation in his actions. He isn’t as strung out as he was when he confronted the demons for Crowley and he’s glad for it since he can pretend he’s simply paving the way for Cas and Gabriel, not killing for the hell of it. 

Everything’s a bit jumbled in his head. Cas’ presence is seriously messing with him. He wants to take the demons apart limb for limb but the stronger part of him holds him back, makes him go straight for the kill, forgoing the torture. 

Like he said, he’s in control. 

Dean straightens up when all four guards are on the ground and chances a look at his companions. He can identify the shock in Castiel’s eyes, but there is something more, something of baser nature that is gone too quickly for him to identify. 

They move forward in silence, posed for the next obstacle blocking their way. 

Dean senses their presence before he hears them – announcing their arrival with too-familiar howls. 

Hellhounds. 

Where the mere thought of them used to make Dean tense in fear (one of the sons of bitches did drag his sorry ass down to Hell, after all), now there is no trace of it in Dean’s system. 

He can feel Gabriel and Castiel a few feet behind him, their angel blades raised. 

The dogs come barreling around the corner, overeager and at neck-breaking speed, yet when they catch their first whiff of Dean they stop in their tracks, red eyes narrowed. 

The larger one barks and Dean approaches, a little wary but overall confident. Maybe it’s like with horses, he muses and reaches a hand out to pet the thing. He’s not too keen on loosing a hand but something tells him this is gonna work out. 

It does, to Dean’s great surprise. 

He pets both the dogs simultaneously, which proves a bit of a challenge but nothing he can’t handle. He wonders if he can sell it to Sammy that hellhounds are just like a regular dog. Sam always wanted a puppy and never got one after all, and hellhounds gotta reproduce somehow, right?

“I see this encounter with Juliette is more amiable than your last one.”

Dean’s head snaps up to where Crowley is smirking down at him, sitting back on his hunches and playing with what apparently is the same hellhound that wanted to kill him and his brother only weeks before. 

Dean snorts at the irony. His life – unlife – is definitely screwed up. 

“A little birdy told me you’re looking for the snake. Colour me surprised.” Crowley sends a toothless grin the angels’ way. “Now what might you want with that piece of satanic treasure? It’s under monumental protection, you know.”

“We need it to reopen Heaven,” Castiel explains before neither Gabe nor Dean can speak up. “Which should be in your best interest. The veil is filled with souls without a home. Sooner or later it will affect this plane of existence.”

“And that is my problem because – oh, no, it’s not my problem. At all.”

“What use could the snake be to you anyway?” Gabriel wonders. 

“Accumulation of goods. So when the time comes that someone wants something from you,” Crowley sweeps his hand over their group to underscore his point, “I have leverage.”

“What do you want, Crowley,” Dean grunts. 

The smile he receives in return is enough to make Dean shiver. This can’t be good. 

“You’re the new First Knight. As you might have noticed, there are no other Knights, which makes your title somewhat redundant, wouldn’t you say? I intend to change that.”

Dean knows Castiel tenses at that without having to look at the angel. “I don’t know, Crowley, my schedule’s a little tight right now.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll want to make room for that.”

Dean knows exactly what point the King of Hell is trying to get across. Training the Knights means showing them how to fight, torture, main… and kill. It would feed Dean’s need without Sammy or Cas ever having to see any of it. 

“Our original agreement still stands?” Dean asks, sure that Crowley will get with the game. _No killing innocent humans._

“Of course.”

Dean chances a glance at Cas who seems torn. However, it’s Gabriel who speaks up. “Dean-o, can I talk to you for a minute?” 

He zaps them out of hearing distance and Dean wants to give him a piece of his mind for manhandling him around like that, but Gabe cuts him off. 

“Dean –“ 

“What, you gonna tell me not to take the deal?”

Gabriel wriggles his eyebrows mysteriously yet before Dean can figure out what the angel is playing at, Dean is doubling over, grunting in pain that came out of nowhere. 

“You even try to cross me, demon boy here gets a one-way ticket to Hell, eh?” Crowley sneers in the distance. 

Cas’ hands are on Dean’s back then, his piercing blue eyes filled with worry. 

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean say. 

Cas opens his mouth, undoubtedly about to object because no one ever fucking believes Dean and it’s annoying, but he closes it again, heaving a sigh. “Will you take the deal?”

“What choice do I have?”

“You always have a choice,” Cas argues vehemently and it stings to have his own words flung back at him like that. 

“Yeah, and as commander of the Knights I’ve got a front-row seat to what Crowley’s up to.”

Neither of the angels seems to be able to find a valid counter-argument. 

“Well, I hate to say it but we really do need that snake,” Gabriel concedes eventually. Cas still looks cross but Dean ain’t dealing with that right now. He gets back on his feet and, just because he can, zaps in front of Crowley, getting right up in his face. 

“We got a deal – I train the Knights. But listen, I ain’t cutting back on my hours with Sammy, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear. Good thing you’re not exactly Sleeping Beauty nowadays.”

Dean grins but he doubts its anything more than a grimace. “Now give us the snake.”

Crowley snaps his fingers. The snake is larger than Dean expected, probably thirteen feet long, pitch black and thankfully in a cage that radiates powerful energy, just like the animal. 

Crowley holds Dean’s gaze a moment longer, and it’s probably supposed to be meaningful but Dean doesn’t give two shits right now, so Crowley rolls his eyes and nods at Cas and Gabe. “Pleasure doing business with you.” 

Then he is gone, along with both hounds. Gabriel is the first to approach the cage.

“Well. Say hello to our new pet, Cas. You think we can teach it tricks?”

The snake hisses and Gabe jerks back before it can do anything else. 

*

They return to the hotel to gather their things, mainly the rest of Dean’s weapons. Gabriel is downstairs to settle the bill and Cas is driving Dean out of his skin with all the hovering he’s doing while Dean makes sure he has everything. 

“What?” Dean finally snaps at Cas, stepping closer. 

“I’m just –“

“If the next words outta your mouth are gonna be ‘worried’, then you can shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine, Cas. I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

Dean clenches his jaw, noting how close they actually are. Their feet are barely a few inches apart and he’s well intruded on Cas’ personal space. He can feel the heat radiating from Cas’ body and his eyes fall on the small bits of his throat and neck that are exposed where he unbuttoned the shirt he is wearing. 

Dean’s mind is shouting at him to get his ass away from there ‘cause teasing is fine, sure, but who’s he kidding? He’s a demon now and after what Cas witnessed him doing today, there’s no doubt that… Dean can’t even bring himself to finish that thought. 

So Dean tears himself away from bright blue eyes and enticing collarbones, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Yeah, Cas. I’m sure.”

Then he walks out the door before he destroys something. 

*

In a bar somewhere in Michigan, a young man is crouched over an almost empty pitcher of beer. 

His clothes are torn and dirty. He smells like he hasn’t washed in several days and the other guests are keeping their distance. Strands of greasy brown hair fall in front of his face, shielding it from view. 

He doesn’t even startle when a man approaches him, but his head does snap up when the stranger speaks. 

“It looks like you could use a drink.”

There is no denying that, so Gavin nods and downs the rest of his beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, Gavin! And hello there, sexual tension ;) And damn it, Crowley, I wasn’t planning on that… This chapter is a perfect example of my characters taking over and over-complicating everything. *sighs* Or me thinking I could sneak the snake thing by the King of Hell and he proving me wrong… either way: balls! 
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn’t too… I don’t know. Dean’s headspace is a messed up place right now and writing his POV is I think one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to write. I hope it worked, though! 
> 
> /*author-rant-over*
> 
> PS: I made a [gif set for the previous chapter](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/post/88864969936/season-10-au-the-good-fight-chapter-5-summary)! [This](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr by the way *hint-hint*


	7. Episode 6 - Mami Wata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man who had it all commits suicide after he lost his job, his house suffered extensive water damage and a snake bit his sister. Nothing too suspicious, if it weren’t for the three other mysterious occurrences that have happened in the same area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the positivity I’ve received for this fic :) Your feedback keeps me going, seriously!
> 
>  **Slight warning** for dub-con-ish situation (a demon groping Dean a bit, but nothing major… Yet if the topic’s risky for you, read with caution).
> 
> For those of you who might consider this a “filler” – don’t judge it too quickly … This chapter is actually of paramount importance to a certain part of the plot arch. *insert-mysterious-laughter-here*
> 
> Never let it be said you don’t learn anything in university^^ Mami Wata, who inspired the title of this chapter, is an actual thing – I’ll put some links in the end notes for those of you who are interested.

**_Salt Lake City, two years ago_**

It’s Rob’s first week at the new firm and his colleagues dragged him with them for a few beers and a good time. Rob didn’t have the courage to tell them he’s not exactly liquid enough to buy drinks, crippled from student loans and debts his parents left him, so here he is. 

Friday night, some fancy bar where the coasters bear the establishment’s logo because when you’re doing well at the firm, spending fifty bucks a night or more won’t hurt your wallet. 

“Ohhhh, looks like someone’s checking you out,” one of the guys, Stevie maybe, says, leaning close to Rob and pointing towards the bar. “You should go after that one!”

Rob swallows thickly. The woman is gorgeous – tall, dark skinned with curly hair, her body clad in a fitting red and white dress with matching red heels. Not wanting to show any weakness in front of his new colleagues, Rob pushes his chair back and struts over, trying to be casual about his approach and probably failing miserably. 

Yet the woman’s smile doesn’t falter, not even when he leans close, noticing her snake-shaped earrings. 

“I’d really like to buy you a drink but I’m afraid that would mean I’ll have to live off ramen noodles for the rest of the month.”

To outsiders, it would look like he tried and she turned him down. It’s a good plan. 

At least until she catches him by the tie and doesn’t let him lean back. 

“Then why don’t you just take me home?” she purrs and the velvety quality of her voice is enough to send shivers down Rob’s spine. 

They are out of the bar immediately, kissing in the cab she pays for with bills out of her thick purse. Fortunately, Rob’s apartment looks presentable – not that they notice much of their surroundings as they practically fall through the front door. 

He’s always been more of the ‘making love’ kind of guy but something about this woman just… sets him on fire. 

When he wakes the next morning, his bed is empty and she left neither her name nor her phone number. Rob tries to shrug it off but his thoughts circle back to her all day as he goes about his Saturday routine, finally returning to his apartment. 

After he closes the front door behind him and turns around to put the groceries away, his eyes fall on the bed. 

She’s sitting there. 

“What -?” he begins, but she shushes him.

“I’m no regular woman,” she says. “I can bring you great fortune. Your life will improve tenfold.”

Rob is gaping gracelessly. He has no idea what she’s saying, only that he somehow believes every word of it. 

“I only ask one thing in return. Do it and you shall find wealth and success.”

“Anything,” Rob finally manages. “I’ll do anything.” 

“Remain faithful to me. I am the only woman you shall love from this moment on. Keep your vow and everything shall be well. Break it and misfortune will rain upon you.”

“I swear. I’ll stay faithful.” 

Smiling, she leans in for a kiss. When Rob opens his eyes again, she has vanished, leaving Rob to wonder whether she was just a dream. 

*

*

It’s early morning when Dean ventures into the library, searching for Sammy’s laptop. He passes Kevin who’s engrossed in the tablet like always and finally spies the thing he’s looking for on the map table.

He intends to grab it – only to find he can’t ‘cause the laptop’s been placed inside a goddamn devil’s trap. 

Dean curses under his breath, then turns his most charming smile on Kevin. 

“Hey, Kevin, you think you could help me out –“

“Sam said no, Dean.”

“But why?” Dean whines. He needs to scratch an itch and he really can’t do that without the laptop. 

“Sam said no more watching porn on his computer.” 

“Come on, man, where’s your empathy?”

“I won’t help you, sorry.”

Dean punches the air in frustration just as he hears a key in the front door, announcing Sam’s return from his freakishly early morning run. 

“Brother!” Dean smiles, opening his arms. 

Too bad that said brother sees right through him. “Forget it, Dean! I’ve barely restored it to how it was before you let it get infected with the last virus. I don’t need that again.”

“Dude, a guy has needs!”

“Yeah, and I need to do some research.”

“We’ve been sitting on our asses for three days; what sorta research do you got?”

“I’m working on something. Ask me again after breakfast.”

“Whatever man, I’m taking a shower,” Dean grumbles and walks towards the bathroom. “A long one!” he calls out and the annoyed groans he elicits from both Sam and Kevin almost manage to cheer him up. 

*

“Have a good shower?” Sam asks pointedly when Dean returns half an hour later, hair still damp.

“Oh, it was awesome. The water pressure here is just incredible and did you know you could alter it so that it feels like –“

“Unless we have bleach somewhere, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“Sammy, you’re no fun.”

“At least I found us another case. Salt Lake City.” With that Sam spins the laptop around and dives into his findings. “The first thing I saw was a man who killed himself after he lost his job, his house suffered intense water damage and his sister landed in hospital because of a snake bite.”

“I take that it wasn’t any snake you’d expect to find anywhere near that area?”

Sam shakes his head. “And I dug deeper and all sorts of strange things’ve been happening all around the city. The yacht club lost half their boats in a storm, a completely nameless actor lands a part in a national television show and get this: This guy,” Sam draws up a picture of a decidedly handsome young man, “became Mr. Utah last months after looking like _this_ until last summer.” 

It’s like some scary version of one of those before-after shows on TV. The guy was nothing special with a bad case of acne and now he’s all but smoking hot. 

“What the fuck?” Dean clicks through the rest of the tabs Sam has open, mostly weather maps confirming that the storm that destroyed the boats came out of nowhere. 

“I don’t know, man, but something’s up.” 

“Well, what’re we waiting for? Come on.”

Sam, however, spares a worried glance for Kevin. 

“I’ll be fine, guys.” They jerk around to where Kevin is still sitting, apparently listening avidly to their conversation. “If anything comes up I can always call Castiel or Gabriel.”

Right, Gabriel, who’s finding a temporary home for the snake and an adequate punishment for Khaled. And Cas, who Dean’s definitely not thinking about right now. 

It takes some time but eventually, Sam nods and they’re packing their bags and heading out to the Impala. It’s a thirteen-hour drive and maybe they’ll make it there before nightfall. 

*

They don’t make it, not that Sam minds too much. They book themselves into a cheap motel near the city center like always and decide to check out the yacht club. 

The damage is still extensive; moon light illuminating broken piers and splintered boats behind barriers that mean nothing to the Winchesters. The strangest thing is that the storm didn’t concentrate on one part of the harbor but seemingly targeted certain boats. 

“Whatever did this had something against these owners, I’d say,” Sam concludes as they make their way back to the hotel. 

“Yeah, well you go ahead, I’ll stay out a bit, questioning the locals, things like that,” Dean replies off-handedly but Sam’s heard that tone often enough to call bullshit. 

“Questioning the locals?” he mocks. “That’s what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Screw you, man, you’re the one who took away my laptop privileges.”

Sam chuckles but waves his brother goodbye. 

*

Dean spies a bar a few houses down the road and glances around, wondering if anyone will notice him zapping to the block, until he literally runs into someone. 

“Easy there, tiger:” He knows that British drawl all too well. 

“What do you want, Crowley?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I confuse you with the other Knight of Hell who owes me training sessions?” 

Dean grumbles, flexing his hand. “I’m busy.”

Crowley, as if he knew exactly what Dean was trying to do, looks over his shoulder. “Please, you’ll get more satisfaction from fighting with the five potential members of my shiny new army than from a meaningless tumble between the sheets.”

“I doubt that.”

“What’s it been since you killed my guards and tortured the other one? Three days? By tomorrow you’ll be itching for blood, mark my words.”

Dean glances from the demon to the bar back to the King of Hell. “So we pretending I got a choice in this or what?”

“No,” Crowley sneers and grabs his shoulder to teleport him off. 

*

If Dean seems more relaxed the following day, Sam doesn’t call attention to it, even though Sam’s smirking inwardly as he inspects Robert Cox living room. 

The man has done well for himself – started working at the accounting firm two years ago several thousand dollars in debt, owned his own house with flat screens and a whirlpool a year later. 

“This thing reeks of Crossroad Demon,” Dean say as he sweeps the EMF meter over the walls. 

“You think he killed himself when he saw the hellhounds come?”

“Wouldn’t be the first guy to shit himself.”

“Doesn’t explain the boats, though. And the snake bite, and his water damage,” Sam argues, kicking at a bloated book. The official story is that a pipe broke above the living room, causing the ceiling to collapse and the house to flood. Robert Cox lost everything because there was an alleged mistake on his insurance application.

However, the pipes were brand new, seeing as the house had been renovated top to bottom before Rob bought it. 

“So no easy solution, don’t we love our jobs,” Dean quips a moment before the EMF meter spikes. 

“What is it?”

“Business card.”

Dean hands it over and Sam turns it around. While everything else in the house bears the marks of the water damage, the card is in pristine condition. Not a drop of anything has touched it and both of them exchange meaningful looks. 

_Yoofi Nkrumah, Professor of African Religious Studies._

*

Gavin gazes after the stranger as the bloke heads towards the bar and waves the barman over. 

He is taller than Gavin, lean and tough looking, more like those folks Gavin is owing money to. By his luck, the lad will be just as big a wanker as them and kick a beaten lad when he’s down. 

“Here you go.”

Two pints are placed on the table of the corner booth where Gavin has been hiding. Dark shirt, dark pants, nothing too fancy but not ragged either. It’s hard to make heads or tails of this bloke, with his short blond hair and blue eyes. 

“I’m Merrick.”

“Gavin.”

“You shouldn’t be telling strangers your name, Gavin.”

“You just told me yours, mate.”

“Have you learnt nothing ever since you reached this century?” Merrick asks and Gavin promptly chokes on the sip of beer he took. 

He can feel the colour draining from his face as he gapes at the man. How -? 

“Relax, I don’t mean any harm. In fact, I’m here because we have a common enemy.”

“Who?” Gavin manages. If this Merrick knows where he’s from, he’s probably a demon or some other supernatural creature that Gavin has managed to avoid so far. 

“Your father.”

“How do ya know about me Dad?” 

“I have my sources.”

“What’s he done to ya?” he can’t help but ask. He’s curious. 

“He broke a promise.” He doesn’t say more. 

“Why do ya think he did me wrong at all? For all ya know we get along perfectly fine, eh?”

Merrick snorts, taking another sip from his pint. “You’re a poor sod who’s down on his luck, haven’t seen a shower in a few days or a washing saloon either for that matter. Now, I know your father personally. He has power. He has the means to help, so he must have chosen not to use them. Probably expected you to perish a few weeks into your arrival in the new millennium.”

Gavin remains quiet. He wants to object, tell Merrick that his Dad saved his life, even if he left him stranded in an unknown world with nothing more but the ability to read. And blimey, there were so many words one could only learn while reading. It was quite astonishing. But Gavin soon realised that reading wouldn’t get him far. He found some money in his pockets, probably a secret gift from his father, which didn’t last long, though. 

Then Gavin was on his own, trying to work but everything is so different and the lights all switch on magically and there is a box that showed tiny people moving inside and folks don’t use quill and ink anymore, they type. Feed their words into a machine. Sorcery, that’s what it is. 

So really, why did his Dad save him? Did he expect him to survive? Or did he just not care?

“I take it you see my point?” Merrick asks him and Gavin shrugs, hanging his head and clutching the pitcher tighter. “How’d you like to get back at him?” 

Gavin blinks. “I doubt I’d be a great help.”

“Now, don’t say that. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you aren’t the man I’m looking for.” 

“Why?”

“I’m still working for your father, you see, and I need someone to carry out a few tasks, without him noticing. Without anyone noticing. I have more people who will help, but you’re essential. We need you.”

Gavin swallows. He’s never been essential to anything. “Ya think I’d just do it like that? Betray me Dad?”

“Oh, you’re telling me you don’t want to see that your drunk, abusive father gets what’s coming to him?”

Gavin’s blood runs cold and he has the sudden urge to run but Merrick holds him back with a firm grip on his shoulder, pushing him back down into the chair. 

“Relax, Gavin. Join me and he’ll be punished, once and for all.”

“There are people after me. Bad people. I think ya should know.”

“I already do. And if you agree to help me, they will leave you alone. For good.”

“For good?”

“For good.”

“But I owe them money.”

“I know. Won’t be a problem. We’ve got our means.”

Gavin considers Merrick. Though frankly, what’s there to consider? The thugs he’s made debts with will have his head sooner or later. His Dad won’t help, not that Gavin has any idea where to start looking for him if he actually thought the bloke could be arsed to do anything for his son. Merrick is the only option that still promises an outcome that’s at least halfway decent. 

“Alright. Yes.”

“You won’t regret it, my friend,” Merrick tells him and calls for another round.

*

“Professor Nkrumah isn’t in today,” the secretary at the University of Utah tells Sam with a pleasant smile.

“Could you give us his address,” he asks aiming for his most innocent expression and his most charming smile. “It’s urgent.”

“Of course, Agent…?”

“Tubbs,” Sam manages without cringing. Damn Dean and his stupid sense of humor. That’s one thing that hasn’t improved since his brother got his new powers. 

The secretary hands over the address without much ado and Sam unlocks his phone on the way out of the administration building. 

“I got his address, I’ll go there now,” he tells Dean who is currently questioning Cox’ coworkers. 

“Good, ask him if he knows a way how a rookie can score a promotion after a month at a new company.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, they all think he was some kind of genius, it’s shady as fuck. If I hear one more guy serenade his great work ethic I’m gonna puke in one of the fake office plants, I swear.”

“Tough it out, man,” Sam shoots back with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, but then I go ahead and ask them, ‘Hey, if the guy’s so great, why’d he get canned?’ and all of a sudden everyone’s glaring daggers. Say he was laundering money, accepting bribes… Heavy shit, man. The way this went down he’d have never landed another job in finance again.”

“And paired with the financial ruin from the water damage and his sister’s hospital bills, he finds he’s in over his head.”

“And decides the best way to deal with that crap is to slit his wrists. Really mature there, kiddo.”

“Stop judging him and get back to interviewing his coworkers.”

“Alright, Samantha,” Dean grumbles and hangs up. 

*

As it turns out, Yoofi Nkrumah lives in the same neighborhood as their victim did, even in the same kind of luxurious house with a decent car in the driveway. 

Sam rings the doorbell and flashes his badge, mentally crossing his fingers that Nkrumah isn’t a fan of 80ies television shows or the moment he’ll introduce himself will turn very awkward. It’s a good thing Dean isn’t there with him. 

Of course Sam googled the professor before he dropped by, just to get an idea. From the looks of it, Yoofi Nkrumah is not just a lecturer at Utah University, but also an activist for religious and spiritual tolerance, a published author, giving guest lectures all across the state and winning prizes for his achievements. 

The middle-aged man with a tweet jacket who opens the door and thankfully doesn’t question Sam’s name or the validity of his ID looks exactly like the good man Sam pictured. He invites him in without hesitation and before Sam knows it, there is coffee in front of him. 

“Now, how can I be of service?” The professor is soft-spoken and polite – not merely pretending to be polite because it is expected, but genuinely so. It’s refreshing for a change in Sam’s opinion. 

“Sir, my partner and I found your business card in the home of someone recently deceased,” Sam explains, retrieving the evidence bag with the item from his jacket pocket. “His name was Robert Cox. We were hoping you could tell us more about the victim.”

Nkrumah’s eyes grow sad. “Rob died?”

“The official cause of death is suicide.”

Nkrumah huffs dejectedly. “Did something bad happen to him to evoke such a profound reaction from him?”

Sam squints at the man. Intriguing. “You could say that.”

“Were those occurrences in any way related to snakes or water?”

Sam has to force his mouth closed or else he would have been gaping at the man. “Yes. How did you know?”

Nkrumah sighs again and rises from the red and white sofa, motioning for Sam to follow, then leads them through the hallway into another room. On the way Sam notices a picture of the professor with a young girl. The similarity is striking so she is probably his daughter. 

When Sam enters the room, he isn’t quite sure what to think. A kind of shrine takes up the middle, draped in red and white like the sofa and the chairs in the living room. Gold and other jewelry is sparkling in the morning light, placed at the feet of small figurines of nude women. Sam notices snake symbols and blue dishes as well as an art print of a similar woman, wearing red heels, a snake and nothing else. 

“I hope you have an open mind, Agent.”

That startles a laugh out of Sam. “Yes, I do,” he say emphatically and Nkrumah smiles. 

“I’m not merely a professor, I’m also a devotee to Mami Wata, a water spirit. Some call her a deity. Now, Robert Cox came to me a year ago, explaining how he had met a black woman with snake earrings and a white-red dress and red shoes who had relations with him and then demanded his faithfulness. He kept the promise and was rewarded, just as Mami Wata rewards all those who remain faithful to her. I told him about her and what she expects from those she choses. What happened to him?”

“He lost his job. And his house due to water damage. His sister was bitten by a snake.”

Nkrumah nods gravely. “I told him he would loose everything if he betrayed Mami Wata. Apparently he didn’t listen.”

Sam clears his throat, wondering how he much he can ask about the spirit without tipping the priest off that they intend to hunt it. 

“There’ve been other incidences,” Sam explains. “The yacht club –“

“Yes, and two men who have become very successful rather unexpectedly. Like I said – she punishes those who break their promises. Or, in case of the yacht club, I believe she left them valuable goods to find. She would then demand them back and whoever complied would be in her favor. Those who don’t – not so much.”

“Is there a way to summon her?” Sam asks and immediately regrets it for Nkrumah’s face darkens. 

“No. She will only appear to those she thinks worthy.”

The silence that follows is chilling. 

“Who are you really, Mr. Tubbs? I find it hard to believe an FBI agent would be so gullible when it comes to the spiritual. You normally cling to hard facts and scientific evidence until your fingers fall off.”

“I’ve seen more than your usual agents,” Sam tries to assure him and looks around, desperate to find a way to smoothly diffuse the situation. His eyes land on a picture of his witness and his daughter, only this time she seems years younger. Her head is shaved and she’s sitting in a hospital bed. 

Nkrumah follows his gaze, suddenly smiling. “Yes, my daughter. She was very sick as a child but Mami Wata smiled down on me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Something sad colors Nkrumah’s eyes then, just for a moment but long enough that Sam notices. Before he can ask, however, the man clears his throat. 

“Well, I have to return to grading papers. If you need further information, you have my card.”

Sam smiles and gets back to the car, already dialing Dean’s number to tell him he is going to pick him up in a few. 

He doesn’t see the woman watching from the other side of the street, partially hidden behind a tree. 

*

“So,” Dean says slowly, pinning a picture of Robert Cox on the motel room wall, “we got this guy who made a deal with crazy Ariel,” another picture, this time one they found while looking for lore on Mami Wata in which her hair is actually black but that doesn’t seem to faze Dean in the slightest, “and ended up ruined.”

“We know why she did all that to him?”

“Yeah, we do,” Dean says cheerfully, holding up a picture of a redheaded woman. “Patricia from administration. They went out on a few dates, slept together the night before the whole money laundering thing was uncovered.”

“Of course they did,” Sam groans. Seriously, if a priest tells you to keep faithful to a water deity or spirit or whatever, why can’t these people just do it? 

“Then there’s the yacht club –“

“Where she destroyed the boats of those who didn’t return the goods she left them, according to our expert.”

“And these two chuckleheads,” Dean finishes, pinning the pictures (two shirtless pictures for some odd reason) to the wall as well. “So how do we hunt that bitch down?”

Sam jumps into action, walking over to the mess of books and printouts littering his bed. 

“Well, Nkrumah said she’s only appear to those she thinks worthy but some of the lore says she hangs around water or that she can be called upon through excessive dancing and that after her medium has reached a trance-like state she possesses them.”

“Nope, we’re not doing that. I don’t dance.”

“Apart from that, you really think we’d qualify as a medium?”

“We’ve been weirder things,” Dean holds against it and Sam can’t really argue with that. “So we’ve got squad? No summoning ritual?” Sam shakes his head. “Anything on how to gank the bitch?”

“No… but should we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She hasn’t hurt anyone.”

“That guy’s dead, Sammy, and she’s a demon!”

“Yeah, but so are you, Dean, and you’re not killing for kicks. Neither is she – in fact, she’s not killing at all.”

Dean’s face is unreadable and no matter how hard Sam tries, he can’t figure out what is going on in Dean’s head right now. 

“So what, we’ll just pack our shit and get the hell out of dodge?” 

Sam shrugs but Dean’s not having any of that. 

“No way, Sammy. We’ve never dealt with something like this before, we got no idea what the thing’s capable of. So we’re gonna talk to her, seize her up. And _then_ we’ll see.”

Dean says it with a finality that Sam knows from past experience is no use arguing against. If he did, Dean would just go without him, so Sam reluctantly agrees and grabs his jacket. 

*

“Come on, man, this is pointless,” Dean hears Sam whine in the distance. 

“Yeah well, the night’s still young.”

“We’ve been here for hours!”

“Stop bitching,” Dean snaps, eyes gliding over the lake and the nearby wildlife, hoping that this stupid demon shows herself soon. 

Dean’s good mood from this morning has mostly vanished by now. After exhausting hours of sparring with potential knights in a part of Hell that’s not used for torture or filled with fire, Dean was relaxed, sated. Crowley was right – a quick fuck wouldn’t have had the same effect. 

And now they’ve been searching for hours with nothing but the lake and trees and Sam’s constant nagging to keep them company. 

Suddenly his brother screams and all negative thoughts are forgotten as Dean whirls around, poised to attack. There’s a woman standing over Sammy who’s kneeling on the ground while three large snakes are winding their bodies around Sam’s arms and torso. So this is Mami Wata, tall, black and, Dean has to admit, gorgeous. If he didn’t know what she is and met her in a bar, Dean would definitely tap that. 

As it is, though, Dean is wielding the blade, the Mark pulsing against his skin, contemplating how he can cut that stupid grin off the demon’s face. 

“I like this one,” she purrs, raking a hand through Sam’s hair and making him squirm. 

“Get your hands off him, bitch,” Dean growls darkly, provoking a hiss from the snakes which is the last thing he notices before he slams back-first against a tree. 

Mami Wata is on him immediately, pressing her body close against his, wriggling her hips against his crotch suggestively. 

“No, Dean Winchester – you listen to me,” she whispers in his ear, nosing down his throat and Dean concentrates with all his might but he can’t get the freak off him. “I know why you’re here and it won’t work. I can’t be killed. You can destroy this form but as long as there are believers in the world, my existence continues.”

“You so sure of that?” Dean grits out, forcing his hips to remain still. It’s difficult when there’s a warm body trying to get his motor running and it’s been so long since he’s had fun that he can’t even remember the last time. 

“So much rage…. So much anger,” she mumbles, her fingers trailing down his chest. “I can feel it burning inside you, equally bright as the lust you won’t feed. You’re bursting with it, lust and passion yearning to be released… Why won’t you, Dean? Why not give in to your urges?”

“‘Cause I’m not a monster, you freak.”

“Oh, have you looked in the mirror lately?” she sneers. “Really looked at your true form? You’ve been a monster for some time now, babe.”

“Doesn’t mean I gotta act like one,” Dean snarls, trying with renewed vigor to get free. 

“But why deny yourself what you want? You’ll succumb eventually, why not have fun while you’re still in control? You will loose in the end.”

“You got no idea who I am, lady – I don’t lose.”

She chuckles and Dean can feel the sound vibrate against his throat where she’s pressing her lips. “You shall. Mark my words.”

Enough is enough, Dean decides, and in a burst of blind rage he manages to get out of her telekinetic hold and turns the tables around. The fight that follows is over quickly despite the snakes she sends his way. Their poison can’t harm Dean, nothing can, and one second Mami Wata is standing tall but the next she’s go the first blade buried to the hilt in her ribcage. 

She erupts in red and white light and eventually collapses in on herself, her body turning into water that flows back into the lake. 

Dean rushes to Sam’s side and pulls him up. His brother’s shaking, brushing down his arms and chest where the snakes held him down with forceful motions and slightly shaking hands. 

“You think she’s gone?” is the first thing Sam says and isn’t that just peachy. 

“I ganked her.”

“Yeah, but she said –“ 

“I don’t care what she said. I’ll end her again if she’s stupid enough to cross my path again.”

Sam rolls his eyes and huffs. “Let’s at least tell Nkrumah that she won’t answer his prayers for a while.”

“Why the hell would we do that?”

“He’s her priest here. We killed his deity; the least we can do is tell him. Please?”

One should think that after all those years Dean’s developed a resistance against his little brother saying ‘please’ and looking at him with those big puppy dog eyes but nope. Dean could probably withstand it now if he weren’t constantly focusing on his feelings and instead just going with the narcissistic tendencies that come with the black eyes and the zapping abilities, but then that’s exactly what he knows he shouldn’t want. 

So Dean sighs and leads the way to the Impala. 

*

On the ride to the professor’s house, Sam keeps glancing worriedly at Dean who doesn’t acknowledge it even though he has to notice. 

Sam eventually gathers his thoughts enough to open his mouth but before he can say anything Dean grunts out a gruff “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say what you’re gonna say. ‘Cause I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Fine.”

The ensuing silence is tense and uncomfortable. Neither of them speaks until they pull up in the driveway of Nkrumah’s house. The windows are dark except the one in the living room and Sam is halfway out of the car when Dean stops him, suddenly appearing next to him and gripping his arm. 

“Shush, listen!”

Sam narrows his eyes but he doesn’t need to concentrate to hear the chilling howl of a hellhound coming from the house. 

They glance at each other and then move in unison, Dean kicking the door while Sam retrieves his knife. They find the professor in the living room, cowering in a corner with several salt lines drawn around himself. Sam can’t see the dog but he can see the claw marks in the wooden floor and the holes in the first protective ring of salt. 

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

Dean approaches while Nkrumah watches them with wide fear-filled eyes.

“Come here, boy,” Dean tells the dog, his voice light and then he’s kneeling on the floor and rubbing an invisible pet. 

Sam stares, trying to think of something stranger that has happened to him recently but he comes up with nothing. 

“What are you?” Nkrumah’s question brings Sam back to reality. 

“Right now the only thing standing between you and an eternity in the pit, you moron,” Dean answers for him. Sam is a bit confused by the sudden turn of events, trying to find an explanation.

“Wait,” Sam says, “you said your daughter – no. Mami Wata doesn’t have power over life and death. So you went elsewhere and made a deal.”

“I already lost my wife!” Nkrumah gasps defensively. “I wasn’t going to lose my daughter, too!”

“But now you’re leaving her,” Sam states flatly. 

“We have an aunt in San Francisco. I wrote it in my will, I took care of everything.”

“Have you told her?”

“There’s a letter in her room.”

Sam bites his tongue. Not his business, he tries to remind himself. 

The room is silent except for small growls from the hellhound, which make Dean look up at him. 

“He’s getting antsy. My petting skills ain’t gonna hold him back much longer.”

Sam’s eyes flick towards Nkrumah who swallows heavily and nods. “I’m… well, as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Years ago Sam would have objected, tried to convince the guy to fight but now all he can really do is remain quiet. Nkrumah knew fully well what would happen ten years after his daughter was cured and he has accepted his fate. 

It’s Dean who moves. He steps closer to the salt line and disrupts it with his foot. Sam hears a growl and then claws scraping across the floor. Nkrumah screams as his chest opens and blood soaks the man’s shirt. 

Then there is silence and the only thing that reminds of the professor are the salt grains on the floor. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sam more pleads then decides. Just because there was nothing he could do doesn’t mean he feels any better about Nkrumah’s death. He was a good man who tried to make the world a better place. He doesn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to loose his family in the first place. 

But if his life has taught Sam anything it is that it’s not fair. 

He goes through the motions, packing his stuff in the motel on autopilot. Dean doesn’t talk, attuned to Sam’s moods. 

“Come on, I’ll zap us back,” Dean suggests when they close the Impala’s trunk.

Sam can’t even think of a teasing remark so he just nods and lets Dean grip his shoulder to teleport him across the country and back to Kansas. 

*

Back in Lebanon, Dean sheds his duffel bag and makes sure that he can’t hear a sound from Sammy’s room before he ventures outside and vanishes. 

He reappears across the street from a club, leans against the wall as he considers his options. Mami Wata’s words are still echoing in his head, mostly ‘cause the freak had a point. Somehow he convinced himself that holding back’s the right thing to do but just like he feels better after a couple of hours in Hell with his Knights-in-training, he supposes he’ll feel better after he gets a hit of another nature. 

Thing is, Mami Wata was right. Dean can’t remember the last time he got laid, let alone scored with another guy. The latter’s mostly to blame on him and Sammy living in each other’s pockets, though. Before the whole running-off-to-college ordeal it was easier, kind of. 

Like the thing with the panties, this is another one of Dean’s secrets, one he could ask himself should he ever encounter a past version of himself again. It started with mutual hand jobs in the locker rooms of one of the gazillion high schools Dean had attended back then, and from hand jobs things had progressed to blowjobs, to needy quickies in the car’s backseat. But Dean would only risk it when he could be sure his Dad would never catch him and when Sam was fast asleep or otherwise occupied. 

It seems pretty ridiculous now, Dean has to admit, how afraid he used to be, how high his inhibitions were. Remnants of them are still there, echoes that Dean clings to in order to assure himself he’s not a monster, he’s still his old, human self. 

The point stands, however, that Dean has been thinking about hitting the bars on the other side of town for a while now, desire burning hotly in the pit of his stomach. So here he is, across the street from a suitable hunting ground, waiting until his thoughts aren’t circling themselves anymore. 

“Screw it,” Dean mutters. Finally he pushes himself off the brick wall and crosses the street, a shiver of anticipation coursing through him as he approaches the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope Dean’s bisexuality will become canon in season 10. Tbh I fear they might just be queerbaiting us, but I am decidedly optimistic. I shall only be epically pissed with the show runners if the show ends forever and it turns out to have merely been a marketing strategy to keep us LGBTQIA people happy… 
> 
> **Trivia** : For those of you who, like myself, probably forgot who Merrick is: He was Lilith’s second in command, only ever mentioned on the show yet never seen and is maybe dead, maybe not. So I went with not. 
> 
> [Introduction to Mami Wata](http://africa.si.edu/exhibits/mamiwata/intro.html) with lots of pictures (amongst them the one I used in this chapter) and the very informative [Wikipedia entry](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mami_Wata). 
> 
> Yoofi is a Ghanian name for children born on Friday. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Visit me on tumblr :)](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/)


	8. Episode 7 - Little Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin figures out the second part of the spell while Dean is gone so Sam and Kevin track him down … only to discover Dean’s best kept secret. Meanwhile Metatron hears rumors about Gabriel’s and Castiel’s plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains one of my favourite scenes of this entire fic, just fyi! Special guest star today: Death! (oh, and Metatron but he’s just annoying)
> 
> Do I need to warn for minor Dean/OMC? Do you want me to tag it?
> 
> And please don’t google Lebanon, Kansas. It’s basically a one-horse-town and there’s no way there’s a gay club – let alone an LGBT district – anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Thus this chapter calls for a bit of suspension of belief regarding real-life US geography.

Metatron turns the page slowly, savoring the feel of the book in his hands as a smile plays around his lips. 

“I’d like to thank you again,” he tells the guard; a rookie angel named Cornelius who has hardly been around for a millennium. “It is nice to have a way to occupy myself. Staring at these walls is so impeccably dull… But then, you would know, wouldn’t you?”

No reaction. Not that Metatron was expecting one. Like all the other guards, Cornelius hasn’t said a word. Which, of course, doesn’t bother Metatron in the slightest. As long as the guards listen, everything is fine. 

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” Cornelius shifts almost imperceptibly, maybe holding back a nod or even an affirmative remark. Metatron sighs pointedly. “Too bad I am imprisoned. I’d love to hear what my followers have been up to.”

That evokes a reaction: Cornelius’ head jerks sideways, staring at him where he is sitting on the cell’s cot. 

“Oh yes, they are still active. Meet once a week, at minimum, since they haven’t bought into _Castiel’s_ new regime.” Metatron spits the name with as much venom as he is capable of. True, the angel surprised him and didn’t execute him, but other than that he is nothing but a weak excuse for foot soldier of God. Castiel betrayed his kind by choosing one pesky little human over his family, an action that will come back and, what’s the phrase? ‘Bite him in the ass’.

“Have you bought into his regime, Cornelius? Do you believe following Castiel and Gabriel is the right choice?” Metatron sniggers mentally at the guard’s futile attempts to school his features. “Or are you undecided, merely following along with the herd like angels always do?”

The silence that follows is almost too loud. 

“That’s what I thought, Cornelius. You have sworn loyalty to Heaven and simply went along when they swapped out senior management. But you could at least take a look at what the competition offers. Wouldn’t that be more just? I’ll make it easy for you, too. I will tell you the rendezvous point. It’s a good deal – you get a close look at the alternatives there are, no strings attached. No need to sign a contract. If you don’t like it, you can just leave, return to the status quo you didn’t have any say over…” 

Metatron pauses dramatically, noting the slight shift in Cornelius’ stance. Almost there. “But of course if you prefer our side of things, our plans for Heaven and if you like how we intend to save humanity, you are more than welcome to stay. We always have a place for anyone who wants to join.”

Cornelius doesn’t answer immediately and Metatron gladly lets the silence stretch. He watches over the edge of his book how the guard grows more and more restless, clearly dying to speak up but under strict orders not to. 

“What’s that you’re asking?” Metatron wonders pointedly. “That it’s probably a trap?” Metatron fakes a gasp of outrage. “How can you say that? Haven’t I always been open and truthful with you? Haven’t I set forth a clear path for all of Heaven to follow? You can believe me when I say you won’t be harmed if you chose to come tonight.” He chuckles. “Isn’t that funny? Castiel propagates free will but doesn’t give you room to make our own choices. I wonder if more of us can see it, of if they are too blind to notice.”

He waits a few more minutes until he draws his conclusion, enjoying how Cornelius shuffles on the spot. “Anywho, I am grateful that you listened. I can’t ask more of you than to consider what I’m offering.” He gives the angel the coordinates for the meet-up, repeating it twice to make sure the guard will be able to remember it. 

“Your choice, Cornelius.”

With a satisfied smirk that remains hidden from the angel’s view Metatron returns his attention to the book in his hands. 

All in due time.

*

*

Sam lands three well-timed punches then goes in for a sidekick that sends the punching bag swinging back. Sam brings his foot up as high as he can and shoves it again, pushing the bag away and ducking when it inevitably returns to him. 

“Sam!” 

He forces the bag to a halt with both hands. “In here!” he hollers and soon thereafter he hears footsteps and then the door opening. 

“Isn’t it a bit late to work out?”

“You do know that there are twenty-four hour gyms,” Sam argues, hoping he doesn’t sound too defensive. He can’t very well tell Kevin that a nightmare woke him and now he is trying to wear himself out until he collapses onto his bed and passes out. 

Fortunately Kevin drops it. “Anyway, I’ve got news.” 

“Oh?” Kevin seems grim, his jaw tense. Sam doubts they will like whatever he found.

“Yeah, second task has finally become clear. Where’s Dean?”

“He’s not here?”

“No. He muttered something when he went out I think, but I was too spaced out to really hear him.”

“Probably gone out.”

That elicits a smile. “Well, someone had to revoke his laptop privileges.” 

“Damn right. Come on, I’ll call him.”

Sam follows Kevin back into the library, picking up his mobile first and dialing his brother. 

It rings twice, three times… Dean is not picking up. 

*

Dean feels his cell phone vibrate in the back pocket of his jeans and groans, annoyed at the interruption. The groan turns into a hiss then because the guy on his knees in front of him twirls his tongue just so in that exact moment. 

He is leaning against cold tiles in the back room of the club. He doesn’t really see the twink sucking him off in the dim light, doesn’t see a lot for that matter, but he can hear enough to be able to draw a mental map of this place, which is enough to soothe his hunter instincts while leaving himself so exposed. 

His phone vibrates again. Dean rakes a hand through the guy’s dark hair, keeping his grip light but the man hums around his dick so Dean takes it as encouragement and pulls harder. The guy works his tongue expertly around the crown, eventually tongues the slit, making Dean see stars for a moment. 

The vibrating doesn’t let up yet Dean ignores it for the time being, deciding that whatever it is it can wait twenty more minutes. 

*

Sam ends the call with a groan. “He’s not picking up.”

“Is that bad?” Kevin sounds worried and Sam figures they have a right to be. Dean’s gone all but MIA and isn’t responding to his calls. It’s most likely nothing, but still. 

“Probably not.”

“Want me to trace his cell?”

“You can do that?”

The look Sam receives in response has “duh” written all over it. 

*

“Enough,” Dean grunts and pulls the guy off him himself, who looks up at him with big eyes. “I promised you something, didn’t I?” 

Dean’s voice is deeper than usual, huskier too and he can see the effect it has on the guy whose name he forgot immediately after he introduced himself. Dean pulls him up and slams him – gently, considering the actual scope of his powers – against the backroom wall. The twink’s pants are already open, no doubt the guy was jerking himself off while sucking Dean, which makes it considerably easier to simply _push in_.

*

“Got it!” Kevin announces, rattling off the address while Sam grabs his jacket and together they head towards the garage. 

“I’ll call Cas and Gabriel, I guess they should hear it, too.”

“Good idea,” Kevin comments as he slides into the Impala’s passenger seat.

When they reach the place Kevin traced Dean’s cell to, Sam’s suspicions are instantly proven. They come to a halt on the other side of the road, which is busier with late night partygoers than with cars, and Sam smirks as he takes in the club’s façade.

“TRYANGLES” is written in illuminated letters above the entrance, and only the rainbow flag fixed to the “l” and blowing in the wind gives away the club’s nature. 

“Uh,” Kevin manages after he follows Sam out of the car. 

“Yeah,” Sam’s grin widens. He can’t wait to see Dean’s face when he discovers them here. 

Turns out his wish is granted sooner rather than later, for just as Sam pulls out his phone to re-dial his brother, the man himself exits the club, fingers hovering over his own keyboard. 

“Dean!” Sam calls out and waves him over. Dean stops in his tracks, glances up and then freezes between two parked cars. Sam jogs across the street, pulling Kevin with him. 

“What the hell’re you doing here?” 

“Kevin figured out the second part of the spell.”

“How the fuck did you find me?” 

It’s moments like this that confirm to Sam that it’s still his brother in Dean’s head, not some monster. A demon, a real one, wouldn’t look so shell-shocked when found coming out of a gay bar, they’d not even care one bit. Dean, however schooled his expression is, can’t hide the clench of his jaw or the worry-bordering-on-panic in his eyes. 

“I traced your cell,” Kevin pitches in, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. 

“Come on, we’ve already called Cas and Gabe,” Sam urges because frankly, he’s quite curious what the next part of the spell will be and he can’t stand to see his brother so… vulnerable. 

“Aren’t you -?” Dean begins but cuts himself off. 

“Surprised?” Sam supplies. “Shocked?” He shrugs, glancing at the club to underscore his point in the hopes that Dean will catch on. 

And catch on he does, his eyes widening. “You knew? You knew that I, uh…”

“That you’re playing for both teams? Or would you like me to pick another metaphor?” 

His brother shrugs helplessly and Sam’s grin softens into a smile in the hope it will make Dean relax. 

“Dude, I’ve known for ages.”

“Wha- Since when?” 

“Remember those couple of months in New Jersey? You hooked up with that soccer player while I was sleeping? Well, I woke up and you weren’t there so I went looking and saw you in the backseat.”

Dean takes a moment to process the information but then he seems to remember something else for he narrows his eyes at Sam “That’s why you spent the next weeks putting blankets all over the backseat before you sat down!”

Sam barks out a laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause I knew you wouldn’t disinfect the leather.”

“I still don’t,” Dean smirks, and it’s good – they’re falling back into their regular banter and the tension is slowly seeping from Dean’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured you’d tell me when you’re ready. Which, okay, was never.”

All Dean does is shrug, yet it’s enough because Sam can read those shrugs. Besides, Sam recalls how it was, driving around with John and listening to his not too gay-friendly comments from time to time. Sam doubts their Dad would have had a problem with Dean swinging both ways, but he had enough time to realize that Dean would have never done anything to even _remotely_ disappoint John. Which, in Dean’s world, admitting he also slept with guys would have been. 

Sam derails that train of thought since it’d only serve to fuel the rage inside of him that still flares up from time to time. Instead, he throws the keys at Dean who catches them with superhuman speed. 

“Come on, I know how bitchy you get when I drive your baby.”

Dean only grunts in reply but the corners of his lips are curling upwards, so Sam takes it as a win. 

*

The coordinates lead Cornelius to a bar in Wisconsin. It is crowded and thus not the best location for setting a trap. Smiting is probably off the table, then. 

He enters, trying to look like he belongs, which is not something he has mastered since the fall. He discovered curiosity and an appreciation for fast vehicles during his time on earth, yet acting casual is not one of his talents. Neither is guarding prisoners, he figures. 

“I know what you are looking for, brother.”

Cornelius turns towards the female voice. He has to concentrate hard in order to recognize Asariel underneath her light brown hair and delicate features. 

“I thought you –“

“I remained loyal.”

It makes sense, Cornelius wonders. Asariel was one of Metatron’s most devoted followers, yet she swore allegiance to Castiel after Metatron fell. Apparently, that was a fluke. 

She leads him to the back of the establishment and a table where six others are already sitting. 

“I believe you know of Neil,” Asariel says, pointing towards the angel who is smiling brightly up at them. “And this is Zadkiel.”

Zadkiel’s vessel has a Hispanic background, broad shoulders and even in a sitting position Cornelius can see he is tall as well. From what Cornelius knows both Zadkiel and Neil went into hiding after Castiel took over. Asariel and the four others, Tennin, Sariel, Marut and Eremiel, are all happily playing the part of true believers up in Heaven while clinking glasses with Metatron’s followers when no one is looking. 

“We are glad you came, Cornelius.”

“What would you like to know?”

Cornelius considers this for a moment, sifting through the questions he has been listing in his head ever since he left after his shift. “What is Metatron’s plan? For us? For Earth?”

“He loves us and he loves humanity,” Zadkiel explains. “Once he is free, we need to reclaim Heaven. Metatron will help humankind overcome their problems. No more wars, no more suffering. He cares, Cornelius.”

He looks at the group dubiously yet before he can voice his concerns, Asariel intervenes. 

“I know what you are thinking, brother, but our father left and he is not coming back. But Metatron would never abandon us. He will be a better ruler of Heaven than our father ever was.” 

Cornelius can’t deny the longing that fills his chest. He has never known their father, is too young to have met him personally. 

“Tell me more,” he asks them, and his brothers and sisters smile. 

*

Sam produces his keys and is about to unlock the bunker when Castiel walks over. 

“You called?” he asks but Sam only motions them inside and leads the way down the stairs. 

“Dean, you have glitter on your shirt.”

Sam glances from Cas to Dean to the back of his black t-shirt and indeed, it glitters. Sam snorts and sees Kevin put a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter quiet. 

“It wasn’t intentional,” Dean grunts eventually, brushing off the offensive particles and scattering them across the bunker floor. 

“Were you hunting something? I am not familiar with monsters that leave behind such a sparkling substance.”

“Yeah, why not, I was hunting a glitter monster,” Dean mumbles and Sam is outright grinning now. 

“Dean’s really good at hunting those,” he comments only to earn himself a punch in the shoulder. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from gasping since it actually hurt this time. 

“Is this a pop culture reference I still fail to understand?” Cas asks when he notices Kevin’s amused expression, though Kevin shakes his head and Dean glares at the lot of them. 

“No, it ain’t no frigging reference,” Dean snaps, “now can we please listen to the damn prophet?”

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean and looks from him to Kevin and Sam, taking in their postures. “What happened tonight? Is there reason for worry?”

“Nope,” Kevin quips, “Dean’s just pissed because we found him at a gay bar and no one’s shocked or throwing him out.” 

“Why would anyone be shocked?” Castiel asks, genuinely confused from what Sam can tell. He’s even tilting his head at them. 

Dean stares. Sam chuckles. 

“Because it’s a gay bar…?” Kevin tries and at times like this Sam remembers that Kevin never really had much contact with angels or he wouldn’t try explaining what is obvious to humans and irrelevant to celestial beings. 

Castiel sighs, rolling his eyes as realization dawns on him. “I still don’t understand the human obsession with labels and sexuality.”

“Well, gold star for you, but don’t we have more important shit to discuss? Like, why’s Gabriel not with you and why the hell Kevin hasn’t told us about the second part of the spell yet?” Dean asks pointedly and it’s really best for everyone, Sam figures, that Castiel takes the bait. 

“Gabriel has pressing matters to attend in Heaven. They are working on a larger portal to allow more Reapers to pass through with their souls. I came alone.”

“Alright, so what’s that tablet’s got in store for us now?” Dean presses on, resolutely only glaring at Kevin and ignoring everyone else. 

“It’s, uh, an ingredient I figured out. It makes sense, sort of, since the original spell required Cupid’s Bow, which is life-affirming, so the symmetry is actually pretty nice –“

“What is it, Kevin?” Sam interrupts, emphatically disliking the worried furrow of the kid’s brow. 

Kevin takes a deep breath. “We need the ring of Death.”

Sam doesn’t know what he expected – the horn of a unicorn? A werewolf’s tooth? Crowley’s underwear? Compared to any of these options getting Death’s ring does seem too easy. 

Dean voices what Sam’s been thinking. “That’s it?” 

Kevin’s mouth falls open. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? I’m referring to the horseman! _The_ Death!”

“Nah, ain’t gonna be a problem. Death and me go way back.” 

That makes Sam cough. “Seriously? You don’t think he’s going to be pissed at you for cheating him?”

Dean shrugs. “He’ll know it wasn’t intentional. Besides, if you bribe the guy with pizza or chips, he’ll do anything.”

Kevin looks slightly green. 

“I assume we will need to summon him,” Castiel finally speaks up. “Do we know how?”

Sam breathes out slowly, taxing his brain to remember. “Well, we only know how to bind him.” 

Castiel averts his eyes and radiates embarrassment. Neither Sam nor Dean dwells on the subject, however, and soon the angel relaxes as the moment slides past. 

“So we’ll need a spell. Get cracking, guys!”

“What’re you gonna do?” Sam calls after his brother who is jogging down the hall and disappears behind a corner. He rematerializes next to Sam a moment later and Sam prides himself with not jumping about three feet to the side when he does. 

“Gotta find a pizza place in Chicago.”

“Why?” Kevin looks like he is about to get whiplash from everything that’s going on. 

“’Cause once upon a time Death was supposed to strike Chicago off the map and didn’t because of their awesome pizza.”

The prophet chuckles until he realizes Dean isn’t joking at all. “Wait, for real?”

“Yup,” Sam pitches in and watches as Kevin processes the information, eyes bulging out of his head for a moment, though he sobers up soon enough. 

“Well, if it’s so great get us some of it, too.”

“Sure thing.” Then Dean is gone and Sam pulls Castiel after him into the archives. 

*

“The first step on our agenda is convincing more angels to follow us,” Tenin explains. “Which is why you’re here. We also reach out personally, though it is difficult to find an open ear when all the Host is used to is taking orders and not thinking outside the box.”

“Well, it’s difficult,” Cornelius admits. “Free will is frightening.”

“We understand your struggles.” Zadkiel places a hand on his shoulder. “And Metatron will not let you float out in the sea without giving you guidance. He knows of our needs because he is like us, still, whereas Castiel has changed too much to be considered an angel.”

“Castiel is an abomination,” Marut growls, the eyes of his vessel filled with anger and loathing. “He abandoned his followers for a human. Castiel’s loyalty doesn’t lie with us, or with humanity. It lies with one human who died at Metatron’s hand.”

That catches Cornelius’ attention. “Dean Winchester is dead?”

“No, brother,” Zadkiel says cryptically. “His fate is worse than death.”

*

“You found Dean at a gay bar?” 

Sam knew the question would come so he can’t say he’s surprised. “Yeah. He wasn’t answering his cell so we traced it.”

“And he panicked?”

“Slightly, but yeah.”

“Well, that’s good, then.”

Sam meets Castiel’s eyes across the file cabinet. “Because it means he’s not a demon yet.”

“Oh, he is a demon – he has the abilities, some of the weaknesses and his true form reflects this. Deep down, though, it’s still Dean.”

“Yeah.”

They share a smile and then return to the task at hand.

* 

Dean touches down in Chicago and only then realizes that it’s three o’clock in the fucking morning and that the kitchen – even the hole goddamn restaurant – is closed. 

_Fuck._

Well, time for a little improvisation. 

Perfect timing, too. Dean’s skin is starting to crawl. No kill in the past fifty-two hours because Crowley’s insisting on simple combat training sessions before they move on to torture and Sam and he haven’t found any new hunts since he ganked Mami Wata. 

Dean smirks to himself and zaps inside the restaurant, looing for the employees overview. 

*

He pops back into the bunker two and a half hours later, using the garage entrance ‘cause he’s carrying about ten pizza boxes. Who knew making perfect pizza could take so fucking long?

“What did you do, pluck the tomatoes for the sauce first?” Sam scoffs as he enters the main area and places the boxes on top of a bunch of old-looking books. 

“Something like that, yeah. Turns out the kitchen closes at eleven.”

“Did you make these yourself?” Kevin asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“’Course not. Found the cook, threatened him and voilà!” He spreads his arms with a flourish, presenting the pizza as if he were some host on one of those stupid-ass food shows. 

It only made him feel marginally better, though. One look at the knife and Dean’s black eyes was all it took for the sissy to go pissing himself. 

“We should keep them warm,” Sam muses and looks towards Cas. “You think you can work some sort of spell?”

But Cas isn’t listening. He’s staring at Dean with electric blue eyes and an expression that stings deep down underneath layers of violence and maiming. Like he’s disappointed. No, worse, actually – like he’s repulsed. 

Dean manages to tear himself away from the gaze as Sam asks his question again, this time with better results. Cas works some angel mojo on the food, preserving the heat like he’s Harry Potter or whatever, while Dean saunters over to where Kevin is lining up candles around a sigil. 

“What’ve we got?”

“Standard summoning spell. We found it in the files the Men of Letters have on Reapers,” Kevin explains, checking the paper to make sure he got it right. The document’s almost completely yellow with age, written with typewriter and drawn by hand. 

Dean starts pacing since he’s got nothing else to do and he wants to get this over with. 

His thoughts circle back to his first meeting with Death, how he was foolish enough to think the guy could be killed with his own scythe. Seems laughable now. Dean recalls the cold panic after the weapon scattered to the floor, how in awe he was of Death. Back when he was still scared of the horseman. But when an entity like that compares you to a fly you sorta gain some perspective. And hell, Dean’s bound the man and he’s still swinging. Damn, he stole Sammy from right under his noses and Death didn’t come after him for revenge. 

So things are looking good. Dean’s pretty confident that Death won’t turn them down when they ask him for this favor. 

“It’s finished,” Kevin whispers and Dean can practically smell the fear roll of him. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Kevin,” is Sam’s attempt at reassurance, not that it helps the prophet relax. 

Dean’s not looking at Cas, but he imagines the angel is a bit nervous too. After all Death wasn’t too happy with him posing as God. 

*

“But I heard Castiel say it,” Cornelius insists. “I overheard him speaking with Gabriel – Dean Winchester is alive and helping them in their plight to reopen Heaven’s gates!”

The angels around the table cast their eyes down, leaving Cornelius to look on in confusion. He seems to be missing something and he wants to know what that is. 

“Dean Winchester,” Asariel finally begins with a heavy sigh, “has taken the Mark of Cain and faced Metatron with the First Blade.”

That detail is new. All Cornelius was aware of was that the hunter planned on killing Metatron as soon as Castiel managed to break the tablet ( _the Word of God, he broke it_ , a voice inside his head shouts every time Cornelius’ thoughts stray to this particular topic). 

“Metatron stabbed him before he lost his power. As far as we know,” Asariel continues, “Castiel believed the man dead, yet two days later he proclaims that both Winchesters are alive and have promised their assistance. We were intrigued, so we sent Eremiel and two others to investigate.”

The angel in question nods gravely. “My two companions are now dead. Dean Winchester’s true form is revolting. The Mark has twisted his soul into that of a Knight of Hell. Castiel may believe he can trust the monster, but we know better.”

“A demon?” Cornelius stammers. “And Castiel still -? But Gabriel -?”

“Gabriel knows of this, brother,” Zadkiel is quick to add. 

“Why didn’t they tell us? Why are they working with him still, when he has become a child of Lucifer? Is Castiel working for the Morningstar now?!” Cornelius feels panic spread through his body, elevating his vessel’s heart rate to an almost erratic pace.

“Gabriel knows and he permits it.” Asariel’s expression leaves no room for doubt. 

“Do you see now, brother, why Castiel is not the best choice for you?” Zadkiel asks, clasping Cornelius’ hand. “Do you see that you might be acting more in the interests of Heaven and our Father if you pledge your allegiance to us?”

Cornelius casts a glance at the other angels before returning his eyes back to Zadkiel. All he can see in his eyes are truth and sincerity and his words ring true.

For the first time in his existence, Cornelius, lowly angel of the Lord, has a choice to make. 

*

Kevin recounts the spell, lighting a match once he is done and letting it fall into the bowl. It doesn’t flare up like it does with Crowley’s ritual but produces white smoke that dissolves after a few moments. 

When Dean looks up the horseman is standing on the podium that separates the front room from the library, looking unbothered by this turn of events but then again, the guy never had that many facial expressions. 

“Hey, Death,” Dean begins and smothers any other remarks when he feels the horseman’s gaze on him. 

“Do you really think it wise to ‘hey, Death’ me, Dean?”

He swallows thickly. Maybe he should’ve aimed for a bit more humility after all. 

Just then, Death squints, the twitch of his eyes barely noticeable, and Dean instinctively knows that he is looking at his true form now. 

“This is marginally interesting.”

“Yeah, I, uh, leveled up,” Dean explains a bit awkwardly. 

“You cheated me once again. I do not like being cheated.” Death’s gaze doesn’t flicker towards Sammy but it doesn’t have to. Dean hears him loud and clear. 

“Not on purpose! I was fully prepared to kick the bucket, man, but the damn Mark wouldn’t let me.”

Death considers him and like every time, Dean has the distinct impression that he’s being put under a microscope or that Death’s got x-ray vision or some shit like it and can see right through Dean and his bone marrow as well. 

A tense silence fills the bunker until Death sighs softly. 

“I doubt you summoned me simply to catch up? I’m certain your little brains remember that I have things of greater importance on my mind than your petty lives.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean licks his lips, all bravado forgotten. Death never fails to make him feel like a petulant child that’s been called into the principal’s office. 

“We brought you here ‘cause we’ve got a favor to ask.”

Death seems unimpressed, not even raises an eyebrow. He does, however, look around the room, taking in the rest: Sam’s calm demeanor, Kevin’s barely there tremble and Cas. Suddenly, Death’s expression darkens. He probably figured it out already.

“And who will lead Heaven, once you have reopened it?” 

Yep. Of course Death would get it in one. 

“Not me,” Cas is quick to reply. “I learnt my lesson.”

Death doesn’t answer immediately and Dean feels a chill creep up his spine at how intense the Reaper’s focus on the angel is, how… grim he looks. 

“Unfortunately, I did not reap you like I wanted to,” Death tells Cas whose eyes widen at the cold tone. “But your grace is burning low and once you use up the rest, you will be nothing more than a meager human. Your time will come, Castiel, and I will gladly take you from this world once it does.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Dean fights the impulse to threaten Death, to tell him that he’ll regret the day he’s taking Cas away from him, but he remembers just in time that they’re here to ask for a favor, so threatening would seem counterproductive. Not to mention fifty shades of dumb. 

“Now, we were talking about a favor?”

Dean shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah. We’d need to burrow your ring.”

“And you will return it after you have completed the ritual?”

Dean nods curtly. Death takes his time to decide, just like he always does but by now Dean believes the guy just has a flare for the dramatic. In the end, though, he raises his hand and works the ring off his finger, looking at Dean expectantly. He reaches out, palm up, and Death drops the ring into his hand. 

“Uh, sir?” Kevin asks, voice shaking only a bit. “Aren’t you worried the ring won’t survive the ritual? The tablet didn’t say and I don’t want to… you know, uh…”

Death merely shoots him a long-suffering glance and hell, if it don’t feel good to see someone else be at the receiving end of that for once, Dean thinks.

“My ring, just like I, is forever. I doubt even God could destroy it. Although I believe he tried, once.”

Dean sees Kevin’s lips twitch as he’s struggling not to giggle at that. Sometimes Dean really wonders what his existence has become if he’s used to hearing such lines from Death of all… people? Entities? 

“Well, thanks. We owe you one,” Dean tells him and he can almost feel the eye roll he would get in response if Death weren’t so fond of long-suffering looks. 

“Don’t screw it up, Dean. You’re treading a narrow path.” 

It’s short and to the point, but there’s something more to it, Dean can feel it. The way Death’s eyes are boring into his own is enough for Dean to know that Death means so much more with that than he lets on. Does he know of his struggles? Who’s he kidding, of course Death knows. Still, Dean isn’t deluded enough to think that the guy actually cares, though. Or does he? 

The lines of Death’s face ain’t giving him any answers, that’s for sure. So Dean nods, feeling the ring sit heavy in his hand. Death inclines his head, sweeps his gaze around the room, pausing for the briefest hint of a second when they reach Sammy and Dean tenses but then Death is gone and everyone’s still here. 

Kevin is the first to move, spinning on the spot with a shaky laugh, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“That was easier than I expected,” Cas says thickly and Dean grins, patting him on the shoulder because he needs to touch him, assure himself that Cas’s still there. 

“Well, Death likes me, no matter what he says.” He flicks the ring in the air and catches is, a cocky grin on his face. “Want us to hold onto it or take it upstairs?”

“I don’t believe Death would appreciate me claiming the ring. After all, the Host has bound him for several centuries. I believe some of my brothers and sisters still think we should reaffirm our hold over him.”

“Oh, he’d hate that.” Which is why Dean hands the ring over to his brother. “Work your filing magic, Sammy.” 

Sam does roll his eyes, though in a fond way and Dean lets himself smile… which turns into a full-belly laugh when he notices one of the pizza boxes is missing. 

“Dude,” Dean manages and points towards the pile on the table until everyone catches on. It only serves to make Kevin giggle more, too nervous for anything else apparently. Sam chuckles and even Cas’ mouth curls into a grin. 

They end up in the entertainment center, a room they use far too rarely, sharing pizza and beers. Even Cas allows himself to be persuaded, though Dean can feel his worried looks at the back of his skull. It’s a bit unnerving, yet he mostly ignores it as they watch whatever DVD Sam was able to find first. 

*

“I see you are still on duty, Cornelius,” Metatron drawls and Cornelius can hear a page turn behind his back. “I am sad to see you haven’t crossed over to me, but didn’t I tell you? We let you consider your options and no harm would come to you.”

Deliberately, Cornelius turns around, meeting the former God’s eyes for the first time since he has been serving as a guard. 

“Oh,” is all the angel says, putting the book down on his cot. 

The soft rustling of keys resonates in the silent prison, yet no one is around to hear it except for the two of them. 

Cornelius opens the cell door, the hinges grating as they are moved, and with a warm smile Metatron rises and walks past him and out of his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Cas, you should have killed him when you had the chance… 
> 
> Death is seriously one of my favourite characters on the show, especially when interacting with Dean. I hope I did him justice!
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed! I live on air and comments ;) 
> 
> *
> 
> Teaser for the next chapter: Brace yourselves. Smut is coming.


	9. Episode 8 - Short Bursts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metatron has escaped – the Winchesters are called upon to help but a series of strange accidents at TRYANGLES begs for attention as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Dean/OMC warning for this chapter. And Metatron being annoying… but what’s new? Oh, slight torture… and… actual smut! (note the new explicit rating^^)
> 
> EDIT: I should warn for bottom!Dean, in case some people don't like that. (I totally get that; I can barely stand top!Sherlock...) 
> 
> Title from the We Were Promised Jetpacks song of the same name. ([listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMnVagy4ruo))
> 
> EDIT 23/11/2014: This chapter now has amazing fanart by the great [AlchemyIndex]()! I'm so thrilled :) You can see it at the end of the chapter and view it on deviantart [here](http://alchemyindex.deviantart.com/art/The-Good-Fight-Short-Bursts-494950769).

The sound of the emergency horn blaring across Heaven interrupts Gabriel’s respite. With a groan he tears himself away from the cloud he was twisting into vulgar forms (it’s an art form, okay? And humans get so amused when they notice), bending time and space until he reaches the prison tower where the trumpet is being blown. 

“You know, if this is another false alarm I’ll force y’all to take another seminar on the identification and classification of risk sit –“

“It’s not!” the angels interrupts ( _rude_ ) and urges Gabriel to follow him. “We don’t know how it could have happened!”

A clammy feeling overcomes Gabriel’s form as he realizes where the angel is taking him. The doors to Heaven’s prison open with a thought and then there he is, staring at row upon row of empty cells.

It’s fine - ninety-nine percent of those are supposed to be empty, since of course all inmates decided that earth is a better home than a cell, so they haven’t returned after Metatron was taken out of commission. 

And that’s exactly what’s wrong with the picture: Metatron’s missing too. 

“So you’re telling me, just so that I don’t get anything wrong,” Gabriel snarls, his wings quivering with rage, “that prisoner zero is gone and no one’s noticed until now?”

“Well, Cornelius was on duty and we only realized he was gone as well when his shift ended –“

“Get out of my sight before I smite you, you incompetent fool!” Gabriel roars and the angel is gone in the blink of an eye. 

Gabriel takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm him, so he screams in frustration, kicking at the bars of the nearest cell. 

Of course that hurts more than it helps, so Gabriel is jumping on one foot while trying to soothe the other when Castiel enters. 

The seraph tilts his head. “They sounded the trumpet because you stubbed your toe?”

“No, you dickwad, Metatron’s escaped!”

*

*

Sharp pain like small daggers is piercing Dean’s chest and back, unseen weapons of torture digging deep beneath his skin. He sways on his feet and grabs the map table map so hard his knuckles whiten. 

He gasps as his stomach seems to turn in on itself, the first drops of sweat erupting from his forehead. 

Except for the noises Dean is making the bunker is silent. Even the prophet sleeps, which is a rare occurrence. Dean glances at the clock to find it’s early morning but the two humans have been awake for over thirty-six hours so them crashing only makes sense. 

He coughs, then, strong and violent, as if glass shards were ripping his throat open and spilling onto the floor. 

It’s only blood in the end, hitting the ground with a splash that’s loud in the empty room. Dean curses under his breath, grabbing the first blade instinctively and immediately the pain lessens and he can at least stand up straight once more. 

Whatever he’ll do, he needs to clean up this mess first. Two towels and lots of cussing out the Mark later, Dean’s made up his mind. 

He could just go out and kill, zap someplace with lots of demons, but Dean needs something stronger, something more feral. He’s so beyond clean kills it should be shocking if Dean had it in him to care. 

So, for the first time in his existence, he teleports downstairs on his own volition. He lands right in Crowley’s office, a vast space decorated with weapons and skulls and innards but if you ignore all that shit the room could have come right out of a catalogue for modern design, leather sofa and all. 

Crowley is considering a contract on his desk but looks up when Dean appears. The King of Hell takes one look at him and the blood that’s probably still clinging to the corners of his mouth and he intuitively understands. 

“Need a hit, soldier boy?” 

Dean growls ‘cause talking would mean asking and he ain’t asking Crowley for help, that’s for sure. 

“Mere fighting not good enough for you, eh? Let’s see what we can do.”

Crowley zaps next to him in a heartbeat and the next they blink out of existence. They reappear in a part of Hell that Dean knows best, where he’s spent years and years first as a victim, than as an abuser. 

“I’m sure you remember where everything’s at, Dean. If not, look for Merrick, he’s in charge. He’s no Alastair but then again, who would ever come close? Except for you, of course.”

Crowley gives him a toothy grin and a pat on the back that barely registers ‘cause Dean’s ears are filled with screams and the Mark is burning hot on his forearm, making his fingers itch. 

Time to spill some blood. 

*

“My garrisons are ready,” Castiel announces, quickly followed by Hannah and Kemuel. 

“Well, go!” Gabriel urges them. “Or you wanna give Metatron time for a pedicure? Or a haircut? A massage?”

Hannah and Kemuel look sufficiently chastised while Castiel simply rolls his eyes. Definitely spent too much time with the Winchesters, Gabriel decides. No respect for authority, the three of them. 

Hannah and Kemuel incline their heads instead of their missing wings as a sign of deference, then leave to take their groups via portals to the ground. Metatron may still have his wings and thus shall be hard to find; his followers however don’t have that luxury. Too bad Heaven can’t spare more than three high-ranking angels and their troops, but it’ll have to do. 

“Do you want me to ask Dean and Sam for help?” 

Gabriel expected the question and shoots his brother a long-suffering look. “I guess you’re not going to listen if I say ‘no’?”

Castiel even manages to feign innocence but the defiant set of his jaw is a dead giveaway. 

“Just go,” Gabriel grumbles, though at the last seconds hold him back. “And Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful. You’re running low on angel juice.”

“I will, brother.” Castiel nods and walks away, leaving Gabriel to look on in worry. Castiel and lying never became best friends and self-preservation has never been high on his list of abilities. 

*

The soul screams in agony, high-pitched and loud. It really ain’t nothing but a soul, even if Dean’s eyes trick him into seeing a corporeal form sometimes. There are echoes all around him, other screams, sobbing, pleading that doesn’t touch Dean in any way. 

If anything, the noise fuels his body, makes him strike down harder, come up with ever more vicious strategies. 

“You’re a legend down here,” Merrick comments as he returns from a different corner of the dungeon. Dean calls this part of Hell dungeon for lack of anything better. It’s not like Crowley gave him a floor plan or anything. 

“You’re a real monster, aren’t you?”

Topside, Dean would flinch, grimace, try to deny it, yet down here Dean simply shrugs. Right now with no inhibitions and neither angel nor brother around to see him, he lets himself go, indulges. Because at the end of the day he’ll be better off, able to function and keep his head on straight. 

Dean needs to find a rhythm. He needs a balance so he won’t be yacking blood on the bunker floor in the future. 

“Next time you can work this one over,” Merrick tells him, pointing towards a soul in chains, heated iron plates attached to its feet. It used to be a man once, and somehow he looks familiar but Dean can’t quite place him. “Sold his soul ten years ago. He is surprisingly resilient – just your type of case. You’ll be back, right?”

Dean grunts in response, replacing the knifes he used on the side table without bothering to clean them. 

‘Course he’ll be back. 

*

Sam eyes Dean across the breakfast table. Most of the time his brother just forgets about food altogether, but when Sam decides to make pancakes he’s suddenly right behind him, demanding the good maple syrup and an extra helping. 

Sam just rolled his eyes and sent him to the store. 

Kevin empties his plate and practically jumps up, rushing through his explanation. “Thanks for breakfast, I’ll be back in the library, I’m getting close!” 

Dean and Sam trade amused smirks and Dean returns his attention to the food. It gives Sam a chance to study his brother more closely. For a while there he was really worried – Dean seemed strung out, more aggressive than he’s been since he turned… Now his shoulders are relaxed and the scowl is mostly gone from his face. 

Sam isn’t stupid and he doesn’t believe that just because Dean is hitting up the clubs every night he’ll just miraculously be okay. Something else is going on and once again, Dean’s not telling him. 

He shouldn’t be surprised. 

Yet Sam bites his tongue, takes care of the dishes once Dean has plowed through enough pancakes to feed a family, and checks up on Kevin. The prophet is engrossed in the tablet so Sam returns to the other room and the map where he is trying to figure out if there is a case for them anywhere. 

The ringing of his phone hardly registers half an hour later. Sam hurries to answer the call; a glance at the screen telling him that Cas is calling. 

“Cas, what’s up, man?”

“I’m standing outside. Please let me in. I need your help.”

Worry speeds up Sam’s steps as he climbs the stairs two at a time, calling out for Dean while he does so. When he returns to the ground floor with Cas in tow, his brother is there, eyebrows knitted in what Sam wants to believe is concern but looks more like detached interest. 

“So Cas, what’s the buzz?”

Cas opens his mouth, pauses, and tilts his head. “Do you expect me to burst into song now?”

Dean, who for all Sam knows has never in his life seen a musical, let alone Jesus Christ Superstar (‘Jess had a phase’ is Sam’s excuse why he knows that), just blinks at the angel. “Whatever, spit it out, what’s wrong?”

Castiel draws a deep breath and squares his shoulders. Sam’s stomach drops. 

“Metatron has escaped. He must have found a way to influence his guard since there was no sign of struggle and no one noticed his absence until the next angel on duty came in.”

“Damn it, Cas! Why didn’t you gank the son of a bitch when you had the chance?”

Cas doesn’t answer, just breathes out through his nose, the anger apparent in his stance. Besides, they’ve had this argument before. 

“What’s happening now?” Sam asks to distract them a bit from their epic glaring contest. 

“Hannah, Kemuel and I are looking for him and his followers. Metatron still has his wings, yet his followers don’t. So far it has been futile.”

“What, how long’s this douchebag been gone?”

“Two days. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Bullshit, Cas, you shoulda told us!” Dean shouts and Cas makes to argue but a cough from he door to the library makes them look around. 

Kevin looks pained and exhausted, his body tense. 

“So, is now a bad time to tell you that the final ingredient is Metatron’s grace?” Sam groans in response. “The tablet says you need the grace of the original spell caster. Which is Metatron.”

“Which probably is the reason for his sudden escape,” Castiel fills in the blanks. “He must have heard about our endeavors and inferred we might have need of him still.”

“And it’s really good that Castiel has left him alive, wouldn’t you say, Dean?” Sam asks pointedly. Dean just grumbles something unintelligible into his ever-present scruff. With an eye-roll, Sam turns back to Cas. “So, how can we help?”

*

The club is packed, people dancing front to back, chest to chest, some grinding against each other, some outright making out in the middle of the dance floor. 

It is the perfect hunting ground. 

There is a fog machine and you’re poised in the shadows, waiting for it to be switched on. You get your wish soon enough, and smoke streams over people’s head’s. The crowd cheers, going wild, so many pheromones already filling your senses and it’s paradise. 

You join the smoke, glide through the masses and see a man, tall and probably handsome by human standards, tugging at someone’s wrist, drawing the other party in the direction of the back room. 

He is an obvious choice and you fill his lungs, make him cough. 

“Are you okay?” the other man asks, worry furrowing his brows. 

You don’t know about Donal here, just a mere suit now for your purposes, but you are absolutely fine. 

You grin at him and continue your way to the back room, eager for what’s to come – no pun intended. 

*

Dean has found a balance. It’s happened without him actually aiming for it – but apparently the combination of daily trips to hell are doing something for him, soothing the beast inside of him that’s screaming for blood day after day. 

Dean sure ain’t complaining. Crowley’s happy since he’s teaching the Knights valuable lessons, and there’s never a shortage of souls to torture down there. Afterwards, Dean mostly hits the clubs and by the time he gets back to Sammy and Kevin, he’s calm and ready for whatever the day’s gonna fling at him. 

Even if it’s helping Cas picking up the mess he made ‘cause he was too damn righteous to kill the douchebag who ruined his life and fucking stabbed Dean on top of everything. Yeah, Dean might’ve found his inner zen or qi or whatever, but he ain’t forgiving that fucker till Hell freezes over. 

The rage must be apparent in his eyes, which Dean keeps green on purpose. They’ve got an angel trapped, tied to a chair in the abandoned basement Dean zapped them to, after days of following leads and scaring people into spilling their guts. And that angel is clearly shitting himself as Dean casually swings the blade, having some fun before actually hurting the guy. 

“What’s your name?” is the first question Dean asks. 

“S-Sariel,” he stammers and jeez, those angels have the stupidest names ever, don’t they. 

“We heard you know ‘bout Metatron.”

Sariel shakes his head, lower lip wobbling dangerously. Dean raises an eyebrow and looks at Sam who watches from a few feet away, equally unimpressed. Dean is starting to think that the two angels he killed after he got back from Cain were the only real warriors Metatron still had. Ezra was a similar pussy. 

“So you’re trying to tell us that you’re not working for him, huh?” Dean raises his arm, the blade an extension of it, tilting the guy’s chin up so he sees when Dean’s eyes turn black. “Better talk fast, kiddo, or I’ll make falling seem like a walk in the park.”

“Yes! Yes! I’m working for him, but I swear, I don’t know where he is! No one knows, that was the plan after his escape, so that Castiel can’t find him, I swear!”

“You sure?” Dean growls, pressing the shiv against Sariel’s throat. 

“Yes, please, don’t kill me, please!”

Too bad the guy’s telling the truth, ‘cause that means Dean has to let him go but he does it with a shove and Sariel whimpers beautifully. 

“So he’s being honest?” Sam asks, huffing a sigh when Dean nods. “We better call Cas or Gabriel, tell him what we found out.”

“Yeah, whatever, man.” 

It’s getting late and it’s Thursday – if Dean wants to get some tonight, he should really hurry up and get to the club soon. He wonders whether Sam would mind if he zapped off now, seeing that his work here is done but before he can make up his mind, Sam’s praying and the two minutes it takes Gabriel to get his ass here really aren’t worth the hassle. 

“I’m surprised that he still has all his limbs,” the archangel comments when he appears, and – ‘cause Dean can’t catch a break today, now can he – he has Cas with him. 

“I was feeling generous today,” Dean sneers, twirling his blade again just to see Cas’ eyes zero in on the movement. 

“Yeah, you’re the next Mother Theresa, Dean-o,” Gabriel quips. “Did he sing?”

“Metatron made sure no one knew where he is. He knew we’d come looking for him so he took the necessary precautions,” Sam explains. 

“Are we positive he is telling the truth?” Cas checks, frowning at the angel and Dean teleports behind the chair, blade in his hand and against Sariel’s neck once again in record time. 

“I could cut off something, just to make sure?” he suggest, letting his voice dip lower as if he’s suggesting something another shade of inappropriate. 

He doesn’t miss Cas’ swallow, Adam’s apple moving enticingly. 

“Please, don’t!” Sariel is off gain, begging for his life. “It’s all I know, all everyone knows!” 

“Oh, but I’m sure you know other things,” Gabriel drawls, advancing slowly with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Like who’s on Metatron’s side, what his agenda looks like… If you’re willing to cooperate, we shall be lenient with you.”

Sariel hesitates. 

“Or we could just hand you over to Dean here. I’m sure he’s itching for some old-fashioned maiming.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at the same time Sam does, both out of Sariel’s line of sight. Of course, Cas is the only one not catching on to the little game. But then again, Gabriel might’ve been counting on that. 

“Gabriel, you can’t be serious –“

“What? He’s a traitor. You told me those two thugs tried to kill you a few weeks back; what’s to say they were the last? Really, we could set an example with Sariel here.”

“We don’t torture. We are the Heavenly Host, brother –“

“And as far as the Host is concerned, this is war.” It’s said with enough finality that Cas’ jaw snaps shut with an audible click and Gabriel rounds on their hostage again. “So, what d’ya say?”

“I can give you names! I don’t know much about Metatron’s plans, but a bit, and I’ll tell you everything, please, just take me with you!”

Gabriel smiles in a way Dean didn’t think him capable of. “Just remember – Dean here’s only a phone call away.”

Sariel is nodding frantically while Cas has a pout of epic proportions going on. Inside his head, Dean finds this hilarious. 

“Thanks for the help, boys,” Gabriel waves at them, then grabs the other two angels and blinks out of existence. 

“Well, let’s get the hell out of dodge,” Dean decides, zapping them off before Sam has a chance to object. 

*

Dean’s plans are shot to pieces when he sees several police cars parked in front of Tryangles, blue and red lights flashing like a poor imitation of the dance floor inside. 

“The fuck, man?” he asks Matt, one of the bartenders and the first guy Dean recognizes. 

“Three kids collapsed; they think’s an overdose. Shutting the club down tonight ‘cause this is the third time in a week. Sorry, dude.”

Dean nods but doesn’t leave. Instead he walks closer so he’s right there when the EMT guys are wheeling a gurney out of the club. There’s a woman stretched out on it but something’s off. Dean’s gotten used to seeing true forms and if he concentrates hard enough he can even get a glimpse or two of a soul here and there. All he’s saying is he got an idea of how a soul is supposed to look like and whatever’s inside that woman? Not near bright enough to fit the description. 

There’s almost zero energy… It’s as if she’s been drained. 

Well, it looks like Dean found himself a case. 

*

His suspicions are proven when he digs through online articles (thank fuck Sammy forgot to demon-proof his laptop tonight). 

Two other cases of people just collapsing, the last time it was some young kid after getting hot and heavy with someone in the back room, the other happened when the victim was already outside on the sidewalk.

One of the thousand perks of Dean’s new abilities is that he can just zap into the hospital at three in the morning, steal some files, copy them back in the bat cave and bring them back (which he only does ‘cause he knows Sam’s gonna bitch if he doesn’t), all in under thirty minutes. 

“Tell me you’re not streaming porn in the library!” is Sam’s way of wishing him a good morning some three hours later. 

“Dude, does it look like I’m jacking off to ancient medieval books filled with ugly-as-shit drawings of monsters?”

“Hey, I’m not judging, as long as you’re not doing it here.”

Dean glares and throws a crumpled piece of paper at him for good measure. “Shut your cakehole, bitch, I found us a case.”

Now that gets his brother’s attention. 

*

“Sam, is there something you wanted to tell me?” Kevin asks hesitantly, taking in the sight of him in ridiculously tight jeans and an even more ridiculously tight t-shirt. 

“I’m going under cover.”

Kevin blinks. “Where?”

“Tryangles. That gay club… Dean found a case.”

“And I take it Dean dressed you?”

“Damn right I did,” the man in question saunters in, apparently freshly showered and wearing a plaid shirt with the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up with dark jeans that are nowhere near as tight as Sam’s, which is just unfair. “Sammy here has to fit in after all.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Well, small pleasures in life, man. Come on, I got no idea when this thing’s gonna strike, better get a move on.”

Sam follows Dean into the other room rather reluctantly and tries not to blush when Kevin calls after them “Use protection!” 

*

An hour later blushing is inevitable. Sam’s cheeks are burning and he clings to the water bottle in his hand as if his life depended on it. 

“Relax dude, no one’s gonna drag you off without your consent.”

“I just don’t get it,” he tries to explain but judging by the look his brother sends him he’s not doing a good job of it. 

Well, Sam is used to people flirting with him, even though it still confuses him. Maybe because in his mind he’s still the gangly kid with too long limbs from high school with the ever more attractive older brother. Anyway though, he’s grown used to women showing interest and even some men eying him but he’s never been hit on this obviously. 

“Care for a real drink, big boy?” A voice asks next to him and when Sam turns he sees it belongs to a blond man, shirtless and sweating from dancing and probably ten years younger than Sam. 

“No, thanks, I’m just, uh, here with a friend,” he explains for the millionth time, gesturing to Dean. 

“Oh, Dean can play, too,” the guy says but after Dean shakes his head at him he bounces back and joins the raving crowd. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “How does he know your name?”

Dean shrugs. “Been coming here for a bit. You get to know people.”

“Hey, haven’t seen you in a while!” another man asks, tall, with a dark mop of hair, bit of a stubble and big doe eyes, wearing a white shirt. 

Sam watches as Dean makes quick small talk, working in some question to find out if the other man has seen anything weird tonight, then sends him off and like the times before, dark-and-handsome goes off with slumped shoulders. 

Dean definitely has a preference in here – tall, lean and dark haired – and it’s so obvious that Sam doesn’t know whether to laugh or bang his head on the counter in tears. 

Before he can say anything, though, the smoke machines are firing up and suddenly they both tense. If anything supernatural is going on, this would be the moment to strike. 

Sam keeps his eyes open for black smoke or any other shade of the substance that’s moving with a purpose. 

“There!” Sam shouts over the loud beat of the music, pointing towards a cloud of pale smoke making its way to a couple on the dance floor. The smaller one, red haired with a green t-shirt that’s sticking to his body, breathes it in, coughs but then seems fine, doesn’t even cease his movements. 

Then both men are on the move, Sam and Dean hot on their heels and following them into the back where a black door separates the club from something that Sam assumes to be a hallway. 

“I got this, little brother,” Dean says, stopping Sam with a hand on his chest. 

“Why wouldn’t I –“ That’s when the door swings open and Sam realizes what the door leads to. “Yeah, good luck.”

He’s nervous while he waits, poised to help as soon as he hears a ruckus or a scream but nothing happens. Dean returns some twenty-minutes later, a pensive expression on his face. 

“New lead: Little Red’s eyes turned red, but when the other guy came and now that one’s complaining that he’s feeling weak.”

Sam blinks, unsure where to start. Fortunately, Dean decides for him. 

“Time for more research, come on Sammy.”

*

Castiel is glad he didn’t have to fight Gabriel for the task of informing the Winchesters of the progress being made. The archangel just told him to go and he was happy to accept an excuse to see the brothers. 

The past two days have been filled with thoughts of blades and fluid motions, so much power underneath freckled skin – 

Yet Castiel doesn’t think about this. Not actively, that is, since he can’t seem to keep his subconscious under control. He has never been more grateful that angels neither sleep nor dream for he shudders to think what form his dreams might take at the moment. 

At the bunker door Castiel retrieves his phone, about to call when the door swings open as Sam and Dean step out.

Castiel intends to greet them but the words catch in his throat as he takes in their attire. Sam’s clothes are unusual yet what strikes Castiel more is Dean ( _always Dean_ ). The dark jeans are hugging his thighs and a white t-shirt stretches taunt across his chest, covering parts of his arms and thus drawing attention to his biceps. 

Castiel swallows, trying to remember what it is he came here for. 

“Hey Cas, any news on Metatron?” Sam asks pointedly and it all rushes back as his head slowly clears. 

“Yes, that is why I’m here.” Castiel focuses on the younger brother who is more beneficial for his concentration. “Is seems like Metatron’s plans haven’t changed, except now he has cast Gabriel as his foremost enemy. Metatron is gathering his forces and will attempt to reclaim Heaven soon.”

“Anything we can do to help?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Not at the moment.”

“You wanna help us?” Dean chimes in, speaking for the first time since Castiel laid eyes on him tonight. 

“You are in need of assistance?” Castiel narrows his eyes. To him it looked more like the brothers were… on the prowl, he believes is the right expression. 

“We’re ganking a demon we’ve never encountered before, some angel mojo surely won’t hurt.”

Dean’s explanation is not as forthcoming as Castiel hoped so he glances at Sam who adds, “Right, get this: There’s a Chacan in town, basically a sex demon. They take over someone’s body, which turns them into a walking aphrodisiac. They live off orgasmic energy, this one book said and it’s not harmful – most of the time anyway – but this one must be getting out of control because victims have collapsed.”

“And where is this Chacan active?”

“A club,” Sam explains mysteriously. “You should come; we could use an extra pair of eyes.”

Castiel checks with Dean who is smirking enthusiastically, so he nods. 

“But Cas, you can’t go dressed like that. At least loose the trench coat and the tie, man.”

Before Castiel can react, there are hands, strong calloused hands, opening the knot of his tie and pulling it off, then Dean motions impatiently to his coat. Castiel shrugs it off… he always feels somehow naked without it and now is no different, but he hands it over to Dean without hesitation. 

“Be right back.” 

With that Dean teleports away, presumably to stash his clothes somewhere, Castiel blinking after him. 

*

Dragging Cas with them on the case is the best idea Dean had all day. Better even than using hooks in the dungeon last night, and that was a blast. 

The angel is looking around with wide eyes, taking in the bright lights, the dancing, the kissing, the drag queens and shirtless men and grinding women, so obviously out of place and just so Cas that it leaves Dean’s throat dry. 

His newfound balance means his feelings aren’t so distant anymore and suddenly he wishes they were. Dean’s brain and body associate this club with blowjobs and warm bodies pressed against his, regular humans looking for a good time – not with an angel who should have left Dean’s sorry ass as soon as he saw the black eyes. 

Fuck, he sounds like a stupid teenage girl inside his head. _Focus on the case._

Of course that’s when Cas wonders, “Is it socially acceptable for this couple to fornicate on the dance floor?” and Sam raises an eyebrow at Dean too, waiting for an explanation. 

Dean shrugs. “Pretty much.” He doesn’t correct Cas that it’s just a blow job so it’s barely a big deal since he fears that’ll just lead to more questions that force Dean to think about sex in Cas’ presence. 

Sam and he have a plan, so when the fog machines start they get in position. Sam filled Cas in and he’s watching out as well and three pairs of eyes are definitely better than two ‘cause they find the Chacan in under a minute. The thing possesses a woman this time and she and her girlfriend are gone from the dance floor soon thereafter. 

“Wait for my signal, Sam!” Dean confirms as he follows inconspicuously, barely catching Cas’ question where he is off to. 

Thing is, the Chacan looses its ability to think clearly the closer its victim is to orgasm, which is why Dean’s spying on the girls like some perv. It’d be hot as fuck too if this weren’t a hunt. He sends the pre-written text when the girl’s breath grows ragged and her thighs quiver. 

The fire alarm is perfectly timed, loud noise filling every corner. The back room clears incredibly fast except for Dean – and the woman with the long, brown curls. Her pants are still undone as the Chacan tries to orient itself but Dean winds the iron chains around it quickly and drags it out where there’s still chaos. 

One guy rams into Dean, apologizes hurriedly and is off again but the brief moment of Dean’s grip slacking was enough to give the creature an opening. It wriggles out of the chains before Dean can stop it but Sammy’s there with a spell, making sure the thing can’t escape the building. Well, small victories. 

Everyone else is scrambling for the doors and it’s impossible to find anyone in the chaos but once the floor clears there it is, holding a bar knife to another girl’s throat. 

“Please,” she whimpers but the Chacan only tightens its grip. 

Dean’s not having any of that. He blinks out of existence only to reappear behind it and slams the handle of his blade into her head. She lets go of the girl but the knife slips and draws blood. Shit happens, she’ll be okay, Dean reasons and runs after the demon. 

*

“Fuck,” Sam exhales as he kneels beside the bleeding woman. 

Castiel moves without giving it a second thought, reaching out to touch his fingers to the woman’s forehead. Her wound closes gradually, the blood flow staunched. She has lost too much already, however, and slips into unconsciousness. 

“You need to get her out, Sam,” Castiel urges him. Sam nods, picks up the woman like she weighs nothing and hurries outside. Castiel bolts the doors with an angelic sigil just to make sure nothing comes in or out. The spell should hold but he doesn’t want to risk the demon escaping prosecution. Besides, strangers entering would put them in danger as well. 

Chacans are powerful, Sam told Castiel on the way over here, powerful and fast. Castiel lets his angel blade fall into his hand as he runs into a different area of the club, another room but dominated by a large bar and lined with sofas and chairs. He hears noises and follows them, discovering Dean and the possessed woman mid-fight. She slams Dean against a wall hard, effectively knocking the breath out of him. 

Castiel is ready. He attacks swiftly and takes the Chacan by surprise. A scream tears from her throat, livid with fury, and she lunges at him with renewed force. 

She is still armed with the bar knife and makes use of it, but Castiel blocks her jabs without trying to inflict damage himself. The woman is innocent after all; it is the demon inside her who is his target. 

She kicks him in the chest with her foot and sends Castiel stumbling backwards. A split-second of inattentiveness is all the Chacan needs to slam Castiel against the wall and crush his wrist, forcing him to drop the angel blade and then there is a knife against his throat.

*

Dean sees red. He’s never felt a rage so pure and hot, almost burning a hole in his chest and curling painfully in the pit of his stomach. 

The bitch has Castiel up against the wall and Dean sees the bar knife’s blade glint in the spotlight as she raises it but her arm never comes down because the first blade is wedged too deep in her spine. 

An agonized scream, deep red light and the body goes limp but Dean is way beyond caring. He shoves her to the side, blade still buried in her back and shoves Castiel who’s looking at him with those wide eyes of his. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Dean shouts at him, doesn’t let him answer, just presses close, hands fisted into Cas’ shirt. “Never fucking to that again, you hear me?”

Cas’ pupils are wide, there’s blood on his lips from where that bitch hit him and Dean doesn’t think, doesn’t care, all he cares about is that Cas is alive and not bleeding out on the floor but right there, open-mouthed and dark eyed with dilated pupils and fuck it, Dean presses in closer and claims Cas’ lips with his own. 

A shocked gasp registers faintly but the next second Dean swipes his tongue over Cas’s lower lip and sucks the blood away before licking his way inside. Cas’ mouth is hot and responsive and Dean explores every corner of it, the movement of Cas’ tongue against his own sending hot shivers down Dean’s spine. 

His hands are still gripping the shirt but Dean presses closer, pushing their groins together, rubbing his growing erection and feeling the same happening through layers of fabric. 

Neither of them strictly needs to break for air, which is glorious ‘cause they just keep on kissing, hungrily and more feral than anything Dean’s ever experienced. Never in all his life would he have imagined it like this. He claws at Cas’ shirt and ends up ripping it open, revealing the bare skin underneath it. 

Cas shudders when Dean skates his hands over every inch of of him he can reach, pinching a nipple just for kicks and relishing the gasp his action draws from Castiel’s throat. 

Suddenly it’s all not enough, the lack of something making Dean’s skin itch and he pulls the angel off the wall, walking them backwards. He knows the room, knows there’s a leather sofa somewhere behind him so he spins them around and pushes Cas down. He doesn’t let go of Dean’s arm, pulls him with him so that Dean’s in his lap, his now almost painful boner straining against the fly of his jeans. 

With sudden clarity, Dean knows what he needs. He shuffles back, off the sofa, tears his pants off with inhuman speed and is back in Cas’ lap before the angel knows what’s happening. Dean’s fingers work open the buttons of his dress pants ‘cause of course Cas’s wearing pants with buttons and more than one pops off and falls to the floor before Dean’s done opening them all. 

Then, finally, there’s Cas’ cock, hard and beading precome and the sight alone makes Dean’s dick twitch between their bodies. 

“Dean,” Cas pants, voice husky and broken. 

“I got you,” Dean positively growls. There’s lube in the back pocket of his jeans, which he summons into his hand, the display of his powers causing Cas’ eyes to darken impossibly more. 

Dean’s impatient, makes quick work of the prep while Cas slips his hands underneath Dean’s t-shirt, lets his hands roam until Dean drizzles the rest of the lube over Cas’ erection. He draws a guttural moan from the angel when his hands first touch his cock and he gives him a few strokes, watching Cas’ eyelids flutter and the muscles in his stomach contract. By now Dean can’t wait, not even a second longer. He pushes himself up, positions his ass over Cas’ crotch and guides his cock to his entrance. 

He’s in no mood to tease so he doesn’t rub the crown against the rim for a bit, doesn’t wait until Cas’ hips jerk upwards, doesn’t smirk maliciously. Instead he sinks down, takes Cas in as fast as his body allows. It burns, hurts even but Dean welcomes the pain, enjoys it as his fingernail dig deep into Cas’ chest and the angel’s hands grip his hips as he throws his head back at the sensation. 

Dean’s pretty sure Cas has never done this with a man, and the thought fuels Dean’s movements. He sets a quick rhythm, lifting his hips and sinking back down, waiting for Cas to get with the program. He does, matching Dean’s pace with his thrusts as he pushes Dean’s head down with a hand on the nape of his neck. 

This kiss is more teeth than tongue with Dean biting down on Cas’ bottom lip when the angle is just right there. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Dean pants and suddenly Cas takes over, sitting up straighter and winding his arms around Dean’s torso while never once breaking their rhythm. Cas’ thrusts are harder now and with every single one Dean’s cock rubs against Cas’ abdomen, glorious friction and toe-curling pain mixed with pleasure that leaves Dean dizzy until he hurls over the edge, “Fuck, Cas!” spilling from his lips as he spills between their bodies. 

He can feel his eyes grow black, nothing he can do about it as pleasure courses through him, but Cas groans, his hips snapping once, twice more before the angel stills, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck as he shakes with orgasm, Dean’s name whispered breathlessly. 

Dean comes down slowly. It takes ages till his brain’s not hazy anymore from probably the most intense orgasm of his life. When his thoughts clear he breathes in, the scent of Cas filling his nose and Dean’s head snaps up as his body goes rigid. 

His blood turns into ice as the reality of what he just did hits him like a freight train.

_Fuck._

*

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans-herself* So that happened. 
> 
> I hope you liked it and it makes sense. It did while I was writing it – oh, and I’m still grinning at the image of Dean impaling a demon in a female host with a very phallus-like object shortly before ravaging Cas for the first time. I could imagine that would work well on television.
> 
> Regarding future smut, though: I won’t “fade out” like the show probably would (I mean every other sex scene so far has been very tame), but I won’t shift the focus of this story from plot to porn either. Soooo, there will be a second part in this verse filled with “additional scenes” aka pwp oneshots ;) Stay tuned for that^^ 
> 
> PS: “Chacan” means “making love” in a Peruvian Indian language. 
> 
> PPS: As always, comments are very, very much appreciated!


	10. Episode 9 - Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A demon attacks pastor Kahr, a valued helper to many hunters. Gavin meets his new companion. Dean and Cas get up to… other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drum-roll* The plot thickens…
> 
> And a huge **SORRY** for how late this is. Real life got out of hand and my mood was so low that my Muse just curled up with tea and refused to do anything for a few days. But here it is, at last! Also, the chapter count has gone up – my characters need more room, apparently.
> 
> I hope it’s right to call the character “pastor” since he was married and has children, so he’s probably a protestant priest.

**Richmond, Virgina – eight days ago**

The church stands proud in the middle of fields. It might seem eerie in the moonlight if it weren’t for the house next to it. While the church is completely dark, some rooms of the house are lit and voices drift through the canted window. 

Alex pushes a strand of black hair out of her eyes and puts the heavy bag in the trashcan before returning to the house, where her younger brother is washing dishes while her father Patrick, still wearing the priest collar, dries them. 

He smiles at her and she opens her mouth to say something but a persistent ringing interrupts them.

“Could you take over, honey?” 

“Sure,” she says, accepting the dry dish as well as the towel while Patrick hurries across the room to the five telephones. He picks up the one that the crepe tape identifies as “FBI”. 

“Kornberg,” he barks into the line and Alex suppresses a snort. “Yeah, I’m the SAC… Yeah, that’s my agent, is he giving you trouble, Officer? … Yes, I sent him down there to investigate, weren’t the local police informed? … Well, I’m truly sorry about the confusion. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Patrick hangs up with a huff. 

“Mackenzie?” 

He shakes his head. “Nope, that one’s still hunting down that vampire nest in Michigan. It’s Wilson. Werewolf.”

Alex shrugs, handing the dishtowel back to her father. 

“But is he sure the werewolf’s harmful?” Tyler pitches in. “I mean, Garth’s pack in Wisconsin –“

“Garth’s pack is an exception, Tyler,” Patrick explains, but knowing her brother, it’ll only evolve into an argument because the kid could never rest his case. 

“I’m going for a run!” she calls over her shoulder, already aiming for the staircase that leads up to her room. 

“Alex, it’s dark out,” Patrick cautions, just like every time they have this discussion.

“Dad, I’m 22.”

“You know what’s out there.”

“Which is why I’ll bring my gun with the silver bullets and my salt spray. Like I do every time.”

Her father sighs but he doesn’t forbid her to go. Well, she’d love to see him try – she’s an adult now. 

She jogs down her usual path, street lights illuminating the way just enough for her to see. She only has one ear bud in, classic rock playing loud, yet still low enough for her to hear suspicious noises. 

At one point she glances over her shoulder, though there is nothing. Just the empty road couched in darkness. 

When Alex returns there is a light on in the church – just one, lighting up the entrance. It’s motion activated and stray cats are enough to trigger the sensors, so Alex doesn’t pay it much mind. 

Until she hears the shouting. 

She is inside the house immediately, gun drawn, salt spray in her other hand. The first room is the kitchen, which is in complete disarray. And there, on the threshold between the kitchen and the dining room, lies her father, his eyes open but unseeing. 

The thought doesn’t register, her blood doesn’t run cold. Alex feels numb as she steps past her father’s corpse, following the sounds through the dining room and into the living room. 

Tyler is backed into a corner; holy water bottle still in his hand but a strange woman with auburn hair and dark clothes has her arms around his throat and is squeezing tightly. An old book lies on the floor and Alex gasps when the reason for the home invasion becomes evident. It wasn’t a cat that triggered the light.

Just then the woman’s eyes turn black and Alex starts reciting the exorcism, more reflex than conscious thought. 

Suddenly her whole body flies backwards through the air until it hits the bookshelf, hard and unyielding. Alex falls to the floor with a _thump_ , already scrambling to her feet again but she simply isn’t fast enough, would never be fast enough. 

The demon places her hands on each side of her brother’s face. Their eyes meet one last time before the monster twists and breaks Tyler’s neck with a chilling crack. The sound reverberates through Alex’s body, a physical sensation although nothing is touching her. 

She can’t afford to dwell on it, though. Within a split second Alex dives for the book, yet the woman anticipates her move and Alex feels a foot connect with her jaw, pain blinding her senses long enough for the demon to get her hands on the book and teleport away. 

“Tyler?” Her voice is barely a whisper. Not that it matters. She still crawls over to where her brother lies, gathers him in her arms and pulls him close, lets herself have this moment and lets herself have the tears that burn as they flow down her cheeks. 

“I’ll stop her, alright? I’ll stop her. I promise, Tyler. You hear me? I promise.”

She doesn’t receive an answer but maybe he still hears her if his Reaper was kind enough to let him linger. 

*

**Somewhere in America – eight days ago**

Gavin remains in the shadow until a flicker of light shows him that the man approaching in the dark alley is Merrick. 

Gavin has learnt a lot in the past weeks. 

“Why did ya want to see me?” he asks. Merrick doesn’t answer right way but steps to the side. Behind him there is a woman, wearing trousers (which is still a strange sight for Gavin) and her straight auburn hair open. She has a book in her hands, bound in leather, which looks more like those tomes Gavin saw back in his time than those shiny things that pass for books nowadays. 

“Gavin, Beth. Beth, Gavin,” Merrick introduces them. Gavin nods, unsure if he needs to pay the lady more respect of if she doesn’t need it. “You can get to work now.”

“Ya mean -?” 

“Yes. It is done.”

Merrick’s smile turns wicked and Gavin feels thrilling anticipation course through him. 

Finally.

*

*

Dean walks into Crowley’s office without knocking – not that the King of Hell looks surprised by his lack of manners. 

“Ah, my employee of the month!”

“What d’you want, Crowley?”

“Impatience will get you nowhere, now sit your lily-white arse down.”

Dean glares at him as he does so, yet he makes sure to slouch in the most subversive way possible. He’s in no mood to hang back; he’s got a date with an angel later…

Crowley smirks once he believes to have Dean’s attention. “Just wanted to give you a little evaluation, you’ll be out of here in a tick and then you can do whatever it is you do to make your brother think you’re still the good little hunter who raised him.”

It’s a bait Dean doesn’t rise to. No matter how true the words ring. 

“So,” the demon sneers. “We’re all very satisfied with your work. I heard you're making tremendous progress ever since you got our most resilient houseguest to pick up a blade. I just have to say, Dean, if anyone can make even the most righteous pull their own weight, it’s you.”

“Yeah, whatever, send me my prize and stop yacking.”

Crowley’s smile broadens. “Of course. Everything for our new star.”

With a snort, Dean zaps out of Hell, not even bothering to walk out of the office. It’s one in the morning when he reaches the bunker, letting himself in through the garage and making it look like he was down at the range all this time. 

Kevin ain’t nowhere to be seen, his notes scattered across his usual table and Sammy is just stretching his limbs when Dean finds him. 

“Hey,” his brother greets around a yawn. “You not going out?”

“No, club’s still closed ‘cause of the murders.” Both their eyes flicker towards the table where this morning’s newspaper’s still lying. Killings even made the front page and someone leaked the pic of the chick Dean stabbed online. Everyone’s panicky and the police are looking for the killer but they won’t ever find him. 

The way Sam looks at him, all reproachful with maybe a minor hint of disappointment mixed in, pulls Dean out of his thoughts. “What?”

“Did you have to stab her? She was just an innocent vessel.”

“Yes,” Dean grits out. “The situation was fucked up; I had no choice.”

“You seen Cas?”

“No.” It’s a flat out lie but it’s none of Sam’s business. 

_“You liked having me on your lap?” Dean remembers asking Cas late last night. “Like me ride you, take you like that?”_

_And Cas freaking caressed his cheek then. “I liked everything.”_

_And he liked the rest too, how Dean jerked them both off, with a hand around both their cocks while Cas was playing with his balls and saying he’d be back tonight…_

Dean clears his throat. “Figure he’s back with the Bible Club.”

“Well,” Sam sighs, pushing himself up. “I’ll hit the hay. Night, Dean.”

“You too, man.”

As soon as his brother is gone, Dean looks at the clock on the wall with a wicked grin. Less than an hour until Cas is coming – in every sense of the word. 

*

**Somewhere in Utah, three days ago**

Alex burnt the bodies, the crackling of the fire still echoing in her ears a few days later when she tries to follow the demon’s trail. 

She took the truck ( _not that Dad needs it anymore_ , she thinks bitterly), packed all the weapons she could find, holy water, rosaries, salt, stakes, the works. It’s not the first time she’s been on the road so she knows the gist, melts into her fake identity, forgets that she’s an orphan and brotherless all of a sudden. 

She took their family iPod too and the music’s blaring loudly. It’s almost nice, the open road ahead of her, nothing but the hunt. 

There’s a ghoul in a town she passes through, stumbles across it more than anything but it’s good practice. She knows what she’s looking for; she’s been studying this book ever since she discovered it while sneaking around the church. Gosh, her father was so angry. But he let her read it, translate it, study it. It’s a good thing or she wouldn’t have a clue where to start. 

Alex reaches the city about four days after she lost everything. 

To choose a Mormon family is a bit lacking in the innovation department, though demons never were the brightest of the bunch. It’s almost midnight when the house comes into view. The windows are dark, which is either a great sign or a very bad one. 

Gun raised, audio file for the exorcism ready on her phone, other weapons concealed under clothing but easy to reach, Alex enters through the back door. She shines the torchlight around the room, checking floors, corners, doorframes. Nothing. 

Then she reaches the master bedroom. 

The first thing Alex notices is the smell of blood. The second thing is the actual substance, soaking through the sheets and beginning to dry. The woman on the bed must be the mother and the corpse on the floor, throat slit by her own hand, is the daughter. Barely a teenager. 

The father is nowhere to be seen – maybe away for business. Alex feels for him. 

She’s too late. The demon was faster, possessing the girl who then murdered the mother and turned the knife on herself, aided by superhuman strength. A teenager wouldn’t have been able to damage the spine like this. 

There is nothing Alex can do. Except… 

A twinge of ruefulness is probably all this is, but it’s enough to make Alex write a note. Nothing major, just a note explaining that it wasn’t the daughter who killed the man’s wife. Maybe the knowledge that the child was possessed will soothe the father’s worries. 

Matricide. 

Alex huffs, wipes down all the surfaces she might have touched, and leaves the house. 

*

Gavin’s seen his fair share of demons and monsters, but witnessing such a spectacle without having to piss himself or run away in fear is just brilliant. 

“It’s fascinating, the way ya can just smoke out like that, black smoke and whoosh!”

Beth looks at him like he’s daft. He always gets the feeling that he’s daft when she looks at him. She doesn’t like him very much, Gavin’s sure. 

“Blimey, we’ve done it, we’ve got another one.”

That earns him a derisive snort, but oi, excuse him if he’s excited. For the first time in his life he’s in a place where he’s stronger than his enemies (well, mostly because he has Merrick in his corner now) and his existence has some kind of purpose. 

“You’re like some stupid puppy. I was promised someone who can actually hold his own in a fight.”

“Well, ya just have to stick with me now, don’t ya? And for the record, you’re not what I expected either.”

Beth raises an eyebrow, jerking her head a bit to shake the hair out of her face. She has nice hair, Gavin notices. Not that he’s supposed to. Notice, that is. That woman is a demon. 

“You’re a lady!” he tells her, only to see her rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry, but women don’t fight where I come from, and they don’t wear breeches –“

“It’s pants, you dimwit.”

“Excuse me if I haven’t learned my new words yet,” he snaps at her, almost regretting it. He usually isn’t mean to women at all. That was his father’s job.

“Shut up and keep moving, we’ll be at the hotel soon and you can satisfy your boring human needs.”

“Wha’ever,” he comments, actually proud of himself that he managed to use that phrase without making Beth laugh at him for a change. 

“No, really, get your beauty sleep, Marty McFly, we’re having a big day tomorrow. Those nuns won’t wait for us.”

“My name’s Gavin,” he insists, hating it when she calls him something else. It’s probably witty, too. Merrick laughed once, but Gavin hasn’t figured it out yet. 

“Whatever you say, dear,” she sneers and wishes him a pleasant night. Gavin throws himself onto the hotel bed with a huff. 

One thing that definitely makes this century better are the beds, he thinks before sleep claims him. 

*

**Rhode Island, now**

The air smells like freedom and fills his lungs to the brim with opportunities. Metatron is utterly proud of his followers. His trail is in the wind, nothing to find and he can plan his comeback with minute precision. 

Time has come for the first step. 

The Crescent Park Carousel is the only vestige of the once flourishing amusement park in East Providence and has become a tourist attraction for mostly families and children. Even today the place is busy and Metatron wanders around, outside and inside the building until he finds what he is looking for. 

A little girl falls and scrapes her knee on the ground. She starts crying immediately. Metatron approaches the mother with a friendly smile. 

“May I help?”

“Are you a doctor?” she snaps, already judging him by his shabby attire. 

“Of sorts.” 

He waits and it is probably the girl’s curious gaze that makes the mother nod. Metatron brings his finger to the wound and in the blink of an eye it is healed and the blood is gone. 

The girl giggles. “It tickles!”

The mother, meanwhile, stares at him open mouthed. “How did you do that?” 

He smiles mysteriously yet before he can reply, a passer-by speaks up. “You’re that healer! You’re Marv!”

Metatron ducks his head. He doesn’t even need to say anything – the passer-by draws a crowd all by himself. 

“That’s Marv! He healed a man of diabetes and he cured a woman who was hit by a car!” The awe is evident in his voice and his eyes are huge as saucers when he looks at Metatron again. “Thank you. You are an inspiration.”

Metatron turns his gaze onto the man’s soul. He is a true believer but there is something tainting his body, a sickness… The man has HIV. 

“Do you pray?” he asks. 

The man nods solemnly. “Every day.”

“Today your prayers shall be heard.” Metatron steps forward, aware of the small gathering that is watching and diligently filming with their fancy phones. He touches the man’s arm, never breaking eye contact. “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.”

“Th- thank you, sir,” he stammers and doesn’t question whether or not he is actually healed. He doesn’t need scientific proof for he has faith. 

Metatron smiles and turns towards the crowd. They hold their breath as his eyes roam their faces until he sees a little boy with a bald head, body marred by leukemia. He beckons the child forward and he follows the request with tentative steps and a nervous expression.

“What is your name?” Metatron asks after crouching down on one knee. 

“Daiki,” he answers shyly, his eyes darting to the ground. 

“You are a kind soul, Daiki.” And with a touch to the side of his head, the boy is cured. 

The crowd cheers and erupts into questions, requests and praises and Metatron couldn’t be happier. 

*

Castiel can barely concentrate, not in Heaven or on Earth. His thoughts circle back to green eyes and soft moans, which is incredibly detrimental to his duties. 

At least he hears the emergency horn that sounds across the ethereal plane, commanding every high-ranking angel to seek out what Gabriel has begun to call the ‘situation room’ immediately. 

His brother looks grimly triumphant as Castiel enters, one of the first to arrive but closely followed by the other generals. 

“Have you found him?” Hannah is the first to ask. 

Gabriel smirks. “Rhode Island, Providence Park. It’s all over YouTube and Twitter – he’s healing folks again, playing the whole Jesus angle. I doubt he’s still there but it’s the only lead we have.”

For a beat, tense silence fills the room until the archangel groans. 

“Get going!” he orders, which sets the room aflutter with movement. Castiel calls his garrisons and heads to Earth. 

*

“Why’re you asking abou’ Marv?” The elderly woman’s tone is gruff as she glares at Castiel while the sun sets over Crescent Park. 

“I feel inspired by his work. I want to offer my services,” Castiel lies almost smoothly. He likes to think Dean would be proud if he saw him.

“Well, he’s gone off, hasn’t he? Said people are after ‘im, that’s why he’s been scarce.”

“I heard that as well. He needs protection.”

She considers him. “He’s a miracle worker, y’know. He’s the real deal. They’re callin’ him Messiah and that’s true. Cured a little boy of his cancer. Made a gal in a wheelchair walk again. He said he’d do what he can, but he’s in danger, that one.”

“So he went into hiding?”

“’Course! Wouldn’t you?”

Castiel hangs his head. It might look a bit put-upon yet it has to be an improvement on his previous attempts when it comes to, uh, ‘working the witness’. 

“Sorry, luv. I can’t help you find him. But he’ll be back. He promised.”

Castiel nods and thanks her. As soon as he is out of sight, Gabriel is at his side again. 

“You found anything, Columbo?”

Castiel laughs. He likes this joke. He understands it, which still seems to confuse Gabriel until he remembers and his features even out. 

“Metatron has covered his tracks well. Everyone here wants to protect him.”

“Well, he’s internet famous now, Cassie. We’ll station a few soldiers down here, have them monitor the hashtags and we’ll find him.”

“ _Monitor the hashtags_?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Gabriel barks a humorless laugh. “He got one of his own already. ‘MarvTheMessiah’. Yeah. They’re talking about the second coming of Christ. If I gotta read one more tweet about Judgment Day, I’ll jump from the next cloud.”

Castiel merely nods, processing the information. 

“Well, come on, the trail’s still warm, let’s keep looking.”

*

“Okay, I get it, the trail’s cold!” Gabriel growls hours later. Night has fallen and there has been no additional sighting of Metatron, except the two they followed but every time it was too late. 

Gabriel kicks a nearby brick wall with his foot, crying out in frustration. Castiel chooses to frown instead. They are in Palo Alto where, according to the Twitter, Metatron gave a deaf man his hearing back and cured a mother of six from Chorea Huntington. 

“We should abandon our quest, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, I get it, I get it. But let’s rope the Winchester in, alright? They’re better with this computer stuff. Our guys are still too excited about Mahjong to be doing their jobs right…”

Castiel has to suppress the soft smile threatening to twist his features. “Of course. I shall seek them out right away.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his attempts to hide his joy. “Take your time, little bro. I doubt our favorite douchebag’ll show his mug shot anytime soon.”

Castiel blushes, yet thankfully the archangel has already turned around. 

It takes some time to travel from Palo Alto to Lebanon with having to open a portal to Heaven and then again one that will lead him back to Earth. It beats hitching rides like Castiel did after the angels fell, however Castiel has rarely missed his wings more. He is itching to reach Kansas, not only to convey the news but also to see Dean again. 

He wonders if they should talk. Really talk about what they are doing, not just about what Castiel liked… Yet when he can’t even _think_ of appropriate words – how is Castiel supposed to voice them? The knowledge of many a romance novel and popular movies isn’t helping either. Maybe he should let his actions speak for him? Would flowers be an option, or does that clash with gender roles assigned by American society? 

By the time Castiel’s feet land on asphalt, he is none the wiser. 

“You’re early.”

“Dean. You’re outside.”

Castiel’s hand is already on his phone, intending to dial the hunter’s number to let him know he has arrived, though the person in question is leaning against the garage door. 

“Thought I’d wait here, safe you the call. What you got anyway, Cas? Prepaid or contract?”

Castiel blinks, glancing down at his phone. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “But the lady never told me I was running out of minutes again.”

“Well, that’s something.” 

Dean grins, genuinely grins. There is no tension in his shoulders or around his eyes as far as Castiel can see in the dim light and his true form appears… balanced. It is an even more beautiful sight. That is, if true forms can be described in such categories – Castiel has found they usually lie beyond the scope of human languages. Enochian is much better suited, yet Dean would probably object to being referred to using angelic poetry. 

Castiel realizes suddenly that he has been staring. Dean doesn’t comment; he merely jerks his head towards the garage door and opens it. Castiel steps through, taking in the spacious room, softly lit by a few bulbs here and there instead of the too-bright halogen lamps. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he hears Dean purr close behind him so Castiel turns around. 

“I have news, first –“

Dean interrupts him with a groan and lets his head fall onto Castiel’s shoulder. “What news?” he mumbles into Castiel’s neck and the suggestion of lips on his skin makes Castiel shiver. 

He swallows, trying to loosen his suddenly tight throat. “Metatron started healing again. He has a hashtag now and Gabriel wants to ask you and Sam to help monitor – ah, Dean…”

It is rather hard to concentrate on forming coherent sentences when Dean Winchester is sucking at your pulse point. 

“I’m listening, Cas…”

“Ugh, we want you two to help us monitor the Twitter –“ Dean chuckles for some reason and his chest is so close to Castiel’s own that he can feel the vibrations. “- but Gabriel said he isn’t likely to make any more appearances tonight…”

“Then you can chill out and get with the program, Cas,” Dean whispers in his ear, scraping his teeth along Castiel’s jaw and finally bringing their lips together. 

Castiel faintly recalls plans of slow kissing and letting his actions speak for himself, though the temptation to simply devour Dean’s mouth is far grater than anything Castiel has ever dealt with. 

Only when his legs bump into something does he notice that they were moving and now he is leaning against the Impala’s trunk. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his hands palming Dean’s back muscles through his t-shirt. 

“My baby can take it.” 

“May I return the favor, then?”

Dean pulls back, raising an eyebrow in silent question while his thumbs are still massaging Castiel’s hips.

“Last night you pleasured me orally. I would like to do the same to you.”

The sound Dean makes in response comes out strangled. “Fuck, Cas…”

It is presumably be the closest he will come to a ‘yes’, so Castiel turns them around, which is harder than it used to be with his grace waning, but he pushes that thought aside to worry about the implications later. Instead he tries to remember everything he knows in theory about oral sex. 

Castiel kisses Dean again, messy and heated, while his hands work open the fly of Dean’s pants and cup his erection through his underwear. Castiel sinks to his knees, pressing his chest against Dean’s and making sure to rub against the bulge on his way down, aware of green eyes on him. 

Castiel hasn’t allowed himself to imagine this moment often, but he has thought about it. Just like in his fantasies he slips his fingers under the waistband of the boxer-briefs, pulling them down slowly until Dean’s cock springs free. Castiel recalls how erotic the sight of Dean on his knees in front of him was so he looks up, wetting his lips with his tongue. 

Dean curses above him, gripping the car with his hands for support. 

He takes his time, then, no matter how much he wants to taste the flesh on his tongue. He intended to show Dean rather than tell him how he feels, so this is what he is doing now. Castiel uses his hands to map every inch of the cock in front of him, caresses the testicles, wraps his fingers around the shaft, traces a vein a the side and watches the entire thing twitch when he cups both balls. 

Only when he feels like he knows every inch does Castiel lean forward, licking the tip and gathering the beads of fluid. It tastes like Dean and Castiel needs _more_. 

He makes sure his lips are wet before he closes them around the glans. Dean releases a shaky breath; his knuckles white on the Impala. Castiel bobs his head experimentally, but covering his teeth is more difficult than he has imagined. It takes some time and he flails a little, trying to make up for it with a firm grip around the base and shallow but strong strokes. 

Dean isn’t complaining, which encourages Castiel to attempt a rhythm, soon using his tongue as well. He hollows his cheeks and sucks like he recalls Dean doing and the reaction is instantaneous – a growl from the depth of his partner’s throat and suddenly, there is a hand in his hair. It feels good, grounding him a little because the taste and smell that is simply so _Dean_ is beginning to make him dizzy. 

The persistent pressure also helps with his rhythm and soon Castiel aims to take Dean deeper, suck harder, find out which spots are most sensitive to his tongue. The slit is a prime candidate he discovers with one hand still wrapped around the shaft and his eyes drawn to Dean’s abdominal muscles that twitch deliciously. 

Dean’s breath is ragged and his eyes closed by now, his erection covered in saliva which eases the way as Castiel swallows him down, takes as much of the velvety flesh as he can until the tip hits the back of his throat. He relaxes his jaw and swallows intentionally around the glans. 

“Fuck!” Dean shouts, almost jumping off the hood so Castiel tries it again and again. His right hand is dripping with spit and precome so he uses the left instead, but he doesn’t want to wipe the right one on Dean’s jeans. 

His next thought is not even that – it’s pure instinct. 

Castiel moves the hand back, past Dean’s testicles until he can touch the spot behind them and the small ring of muscle. 

Dean’s hand tightens in his hair while Castiel traces the outlines of his perineum, exerting gentle pressure but not slipping in. 

“Damn it, Cas, do it!” Dean barks above him, hips jerking forward and Castiel is proud when he doesn’t splutter. 

He draws it out a little moment longer, noting how Dean’s back is on the car now and Castiel has shuffled back a little without actively noticing. Not that it matters as long as Castiel’s fingers can reach Dean’s entrance and finally breach him, just one digit. Dean keens and bears down, silently demanding more. 

Castiel complies gladly, moving his finger in and out, venturing deeper with each thrust until it is buried to the hilt and left to explore the tight heat surrounding it. He finds the little bud of nerves soon and Dean goes wild above him, moaning from deep inside his gut and asking for _more, Cas, please, gimme more_. 

Soon there are two fingers buried inside Dean and Castiel manages to time the movements of his head with those of his hands. The twofold stimulation proves incredibly effective. Dean is whimpering, hands clenching and unclenching in Castiel’s hair, cock jumping inside his mouth every time he brushes his prostate. 

Dean Winchester is coming apart underneath his ministrations and the rush makes Castiel’s head spin and his own erection pulse in the confines of his pants. 

Boldly he takes Dean deep into his mouth, left hand rushing down towards Castiel’s own fly, desperate and eager to free himself, to stroke himself while scissoring his fingers and stretching Dean’s hole. 

“Fuck yeah, that’s it, jack yourself off, Cas, so hot, you got no idea,” Dean pants above him, rolling his hips with the rhythm they have built. 

The feeling is incredible – Dean is everywhere, filling his senses and setting his nerves on fire. The heat trickles down Castiel’s throat and curls low in his stomach, sending shivers up his spine. He is close, he can feel it, so he speeds up his strokes and seeks out Dean’s prostate again without planning to leave it alone until Dean comes down his throat. 

Castiel can’t see his eyes since Dean throws his head back when he comes with Castiel’s name on his lips, but he can imagine them clearly, black pupils expanding and taking over the vibrant green until all that’s left is darkness. 

Castiel eases his fingers out and slows the movement of his mouth, letting Dean ride out his orgasm before he pulls off completely, gazing up at the debauched form of Dean Winchester, bottom lip slightly swollen from biting it, flaccid cock resting spent against his thigh, shining wetly in the dim light. 

When Dean looks down, eyes pitch black and yet so expressive, it hits Castiel like an electric charge, starting at the top of his spine and coursing down until it hits the heat in his stomach and ignites it. Castiel doesn’t simply come; he erupts, coating the floor with streaks of white. 

For a while the only noise inside the garage is their breath, heavy and ragged, until it evens out and Castiel thinks his legs might support him again. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Dean says, pausing to draw a breath. “We’re gonna head to my room where we’re gonna spend the next hours until Sammy rises from the dead and then you can fill us all in about whatever fuckface has been up to. Sound good?”

A bed. Somehow the thought makes warmth spread in Castiel’s chest. 

“It sounds wonderful, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens in the bedroom shall be the subject of chapter 2 of “Escapades” :) (but I don’t know when I’ll add that) 
> 
> Anyway, I want to **thank you all** for the many kudos and bookmarks, they always make me smile when I look at them (which I do quite often). And your comments are amazing – you’re all amazing and I think I’m not stressing this enough! I love writing and I have to write this, but knowing others find pleasure in it as well makes the experience so much better!
> 
> Trivia: I don’t know if the carousel is open in March yet. Let’s pretend Easter has already passed and it is^^  
> Metatron is quoting Matthew 5:8, for those interested.  
> 


	11. Episode 10: Tweet Your Worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, nothing majorly catastrophic happens in the bunker, so Team Free Will goes after a poltergeist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life kept getting in the way of my writing and it annoyed the f*** out of me and my Muse… But here I am with chapter 11 :) Finally! Enjoy!

The bunker door falls shut just as Dean’s hair is finally dry and he gives Cas an appreciative once-over to make sure he doesn’t look too debauched. 

Nope, no one would think the angel spent the night in Dean’s bed and a memorable half-hour in the shower while Sam was out on a run. 

“Sammy,” Dean shouts as they emerge from the hallway and into the library. They’re incredibly lucky that Kevin’s still asleep like a normal guy instead of out running at six o’clock in the friggin’ morning. 

“Dean, what – hi, Cas! What’s going on?”

“The Bible Squad needs your Twitter skills, Sammy.”

His brother blinks at him as if he’s grown another head, so Dean nudges Cas to launch into his explanation. Hopefully he’s still got enough brain function left to pull that off. Dean smirks at his own joke while Sam is busy looking at their angel expectantly.

“Metatron has started healing again. Social Media is heralding him as the new Messiah. Gabriel has tasked some of our soldiers with monitoring the Twitter and other sites, but they are not yet familiar with the in’s and out’s, so to speak.”

“The Twitter?” 

Cas narrows his eyes, glancing from Sam to Dean until Dean takes pity on him and ends the joke. “It’s just Twitter, Cas.”

The angel actually pouts at that. Adorably so, Dean might add. 

“Ah, come on, it was funny.”

“Well, thank you for correcting me, even if it is late,” Cas replies without any hint of sarcasm. 

“Right,” Sam says, drawing out the word and watching them suspiciously. 

“So get your laptop, we’ve got some research to do.”

“Why can’t you – oh, yes.” Sam grins at him before disappearing through the door and presumably into his room, where he took his laptop last night. And Sam’s got the thing inside a devil’s trap 24/7 now. 

But apparently Dean’s allowed to use it for the Greater Good, since Sam pushes the thing into Dean’s hands. “You get started, I need a shower. And I swear to God, Dean, if there’s no hot water left again I’ll really fix the shower up to spout holy water after twenty minutes!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re able to swing that! Don’t forget who’s the mechanic in the family!” Dean calls after his brother’s retreating form. 

“I’ll summon a demon to do it for me!” echoes through the hallway just loud enough for them to catch it. Dean sniggers and pulls Cas towards the table, flexing his fingers before opening the laptop. 

*

Sam spends the shower being confused as hell by Dean’s mood. True, Dean’s been more relaxed these past few weeks, but today he’s downright… giddy. Huh. Whatever it is, Sam’s bound to find out sooner or later. 

For now he busies himself with breakfast and carries his plate out into the main area to eat. He stops in the door to the library because apparently Dean’s mental age has once again dropped to five. For a reason unknown to Sam, his brother is currently teleporting all over the library, reappearing in close vicinity to Cas who, by the looks of it, tries to keep a straight face and his annoyance from showing. 

“See what it’s like, Cas? You’ve been doing this for years, man, how’s it feel to be on the receiving end?” Dean asks between materializing at different places. 

“Karma’s a bitch,” Sam comments, setting his plate down across from Cas who sends him a thankful glance. “But the library is starting to smell like of sulfur.”

Dean’s face falls a little. “Y’all are just jealous,” he grumbles, resuming his seat in front of the laptop. 

“Found anything?”

“I found Twitter, that’s a start.”

Sam snorts. “One would think with all the porn you used to watch you know every corner of the World Wide Web.”

“Well, why waste my time when you’re better at this sorta stuff anyway?” Dean shoots back, a little snappishly. 

The curious thing, however, is Cas, who seems even more annoyed by the reference to Dean’s consumerist online activities than the zapping ever managed to make him. 

Sam’s intrigued enough to keep his eyes on Cas for the rest of breakfast. At first glance it looks like every previous Dean-Cas interaction Sam has ever witnessed (at least the non-violent ones), yet under closer scrutiny, Sam discovers that the two of them are sitting together even more closely than usual. 

Huh. 

Sam returns to the kitchen to rinse his plate – because surely a secret society of hunters who build a super computer couldn’t be asked to integrate a damn dishwasher – replaying this morning. 

Dean looked freshly showered; Cas was impeccably dressed as usual. What’s Sam missing? 

Before he can delve deeper into the mystery, though, Dean’s cell rings just as Sam re-enters the library. His brother’s shoulders grow tense when he takes in the caller ID and he doesn’t give away anything with his answering “Hey”, yet Sam ventures a guess that that’s Crowley on the other end. 

Dean ends the call and turns towards them with one of his less convincing fake smiles. “Well, seems like you get to explain what Twitter is on your own, Sammy, I gotta… yeah. I’ll be back asap, alright?”

Dean doesn’t wait for a response, just zaps out of the library, probably into his room to retrieve the blade. Cas and Sam exchange a worried look but that’s all they can do at the moment. So, heaving a sigh, Sam draws up a chair next to the angel and tries to come up with the least complicated way to make Cas understand the nature of hashtags.

*

*

348\. 349. 350. 

The woman screams in agony with every lash of his whip, her voice thinning after hours of torture. This one will be quick to crumble.

Merrick considers her, weighing the whip in his hands. More lashes, or something else? His mind is running through the options when he senses a presence at his back. 

He turns covertly, too far away from Crowley’s office to be seen clearly, yet he hasn’t made it this far by being sloppy. One can never be too careful. 

It’s Winchester, of course it is. Merrick spies his lackeys, too. The five Knights that the former hunter has trained so far, the five most suited for an eternity of mayhem and chaos. 

All of them love what they are allowed to do yet none of them are too bright. This is possibly the reason Crowley didn’t ask Merrick to join – someone with a brain might devise a plan to instigate rebellion. And while there are only five Knights compared to the hundred Lucifer kept, Crowley doesn’t come close to their father’s grandeur. Abbadon was enough to keep the King of Hell on his toes and she was one meager Knight. 

Winchester is briefing them on their mission, as far as Merrick can tell from the distance. He knows who they are after and isn’t worried. Their targets aren’t part of Merrick’s network. 

The Knights disappear, weapons already at the ready and Merrick smiles at the mutilated soul in front of him. He swings his whip again after all, hard enough to lay bare his victim’s innards which he then douses in holy water and salt. The woman looses her voice after that and even if she wished to cross sides, she wouldn’t be capable of articulating her intentions any more. 

Merrick is in too good a mood to let her pleading eyes register while her form convulses and trembles, suffering endless torture until the Knights return and Merrick pauses his ministrations to see it with his own eyes.

The creature that returns hardly resembles Winchester at all. 

He is soaked in blood, the red substance dripping down his blade and hands, his true form tainted in darkness. His powers are mounting, which is why Merrick can feel his presence even though he is hardly close. Merrick has long since deduced why Winchester returns to Hell every day now, has long since seen that the regiment keeps him in balance yet he also knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that the hunter has no idea how fast it shall all be tumbling down around him. 

Merrick grins, focusing his attention once more on the soul he is torturing. 

His scheme is playing out perfectly and several contingency plans are in place, accounting for every single change. One way or another he will be victorious and once the world goes up in flames he will bathe in the fire and cheer. 

*

“You were supposed to bring them back alive, you moron!” Crowley snarls at him but Dean can barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. 

“They fought back. It was inevitable,” is his short reply, which only enrages Crowley more. 

“Inevitable? Inevitable is gonna be your punishment if this happens again, you daft git!”

Crowley attacks him then, closing his hand into a fist, the action transferred onto Dean’s insides tenfold. He grimaces and grunts from the pain yet refuses to fall to his knees. The bastard can forget that. 

“Get outa my sight, I got a business to run and you’re dripping all over my floor,” Crowley commands and Dean remains a minute longer out of pure defiance before he blinks out of existence. 

He resurfaces in a dark forest in another time zone, deserted and silent. Dean breaks into a run, waiting for the high to recede and his head to clear. It takes him longer today than it used to – a thought Dean pushes into the deepest corners of his mind. 

He washes in the lake in the moon light, uses his powers to dry his clothes and finally there is the calm again he learned to value so much in the past weeks. 

Time to return to normalcy. 

*

“So get this,” Sam starts once Dean is back in the bunker, too excited to notice anything about him, which suits Dean just fine. “People all over the country are posting to get Metatron’s attention and that alone isn’t all that interesting, however,” Sam clicks on another tab of the browser. “There’s something in Colorado Springs that sounds like a pretty vicious haunting or poltergeist.”

Dean skims the tweets – “scratching noises”, “breaking furniture”, “attacked our child” – and nods. “So we got a case?”

Sam exchanges a quick glance with Castiel and Kevin, who’s listening in from one table over and decidedly not fulfilling his prophetic duties. “Yeah, I think we should. I explained to Cas how we can monitor Metatron’s hashtag from anywhere with wifi, so if anything turns up, we’ll know.”

“Alright then, let’s get this show on the road,” Dean announces, zapping into his room to pack a duffel.

*

Six hours and one stop for lunch on Sam’s behalf later, they pull into the parking lot of a cheap-looking motel with shabby walls that make Sam hope the inside will at least be clean. 

“I’ll get the rooms,” he announces. “Three singles?”

Dean grunts, shaking his head. “Don’t need a room if I don’t sleep. And I doubt our angel over there’ll need much either.”

Sam raises an eyebrow when Cas averts his eyes and swallows. “Uh, I might need a bed. With my grace waning I found I have to sleep ever now and then. I grow tired after a few days. I wasn’t going to mention it.”

His admission is met with tense silence and Sam feels a pang of worry in his gut. Why can Cas never tell them when something is up? Well, not that Dean’s any better… But how can Cas keep something like this to himself?

“What the fuck, man,” Dean grouses. “That means you’re getting weaker, don’t it? Then why the hell haven’t you told us!” It is more of an exclamation than a question. 

“And what good would it have done, Dean?” Cas snaps. “I can’t change the fact that my grace is depleting and there are no other angels for you to slaughter in my name. Above all else, I won’t let you. I will deal with the consequences of my actions.”

“So what if you run out of grace, Cas? What’s gonna happen then?”

“You’ll become human, right?” Sam intervenes ‘cause his brother looks like any moment now he’s gonna draw his blade. “It’s the only explanation I could find in the lore.”

Of course Sam has done research. Cas is his friend after all. Yet the latter still seems surprised by his activities. 

“I think so as well,” Cas answers slowly. “I won’t die, but I will become mortal. Human.”

Sam can’t but notice how quickly the tension and anger recedes from Dean’s shoulders, how quickly his clenched fist relaxes, even though he doesn’t say anything. His and Cas eyes meet and hold for a few seconds and not for the first time Sam wonders if this profound bond Cas once mentioned extends to psychic abilities. 

Sam coughs. “I’ll get us two rooms then, and you can put your stuff with Cas.”

He turns around before anyone can object.

*

Once they have settled in – which only takes about ten minutes, a skill honed by years on the road – and changed into some of their normal clothes instead of their FBI suits, they pile into the Impala and Dean takes them to the address Kevin uncovered for them. 

“And you are sure our cover story will work?” Cas asks from the backseat, raising a dubious eyebrow. 

“Sure, man, just look at Sammy’s puppy dog eyes. ‘course they’ll believe us.”

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, most of all because no matter how annoying Dean calling him out on it might be, those puppy dog eyes never failed to make Dean buy ice cream when they were kids. 

The house is one of many similar buildings on the outskirts of Colorado Springs, with a nice garden at the back and rose bushes in the front. Sam rings the door bell and moments later a middle-aged dark woman opens. 

“Yes?”

“Hello ma’am, we are friends of Marv. He told us you have a problem and we might be able to help out. Unfortunately he is very busy, or else he would have visited in person.”

Sam smiles his most innocent smile, flashing teeth and moles like he hasn’t been elbow-deep in corpses, like he hasn’t almost ended the world.

She is obviously religious, the cross necklace attesting to it, and probably believes that all men are innately good. There is no sign of suspicion in her eyes when she beckons them inside and offers them something to drink. 

Sam’s eyes sweep the rooms he can see, just a hallway with a door opening to the kitchen, and the living room where Mrs. Briggins “Oh, call me Margie” gestures to the sitting arrangement. 

On one wall across the sofa a painting has been moved – the tapestry is slightly lighter above it. Scratches on the wall? Did the poltergeist punch a hole through it? 

“So tell us, what’s happening to you?” Dean asks once they are all sitting on the sofa, Sam himself in an armchair. 

“At first it started out small,” Margie begins, “with little noises, a scratching sound, door falling shut. I thought I was going insane but my husband heard it too. Then furniture shook and our favorite sculpture broke because of it. A few days ago this thing attacked my daughter, sliced her hands open, she’s staying with her aunt at the moment, she’s traumatized.” She shudders, her eyes growing distant. 

“And then you contacted Marv,” Sam continues for her when she makes no sign of doing so herself. 

She jerks out of her stupor with an apology. “It’s all so awful. And when Danielle, she’s my best friend, told me that you can tweet Marvin and that he’s helped a few, I had to try it. Can you help? Please tell me you can help…”

Sam smiles genuinely. “I’m very sure we can.”

“Sounds like you have a poltergeist,” Dean adds, earning himself a confused expression from the woman. “They’re not really ghosts, but similar. They want attention, which is why it’s been redecorating your house, attacking your kid.”

Margie gasps, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. “A-a ghost?”

“Supernatural being exist, ma’am,” Castiel speaks up for the first time. “There are worse things that could inhabit your house.”

Sam glares at him, hoping that Cas will get the implicit _‘You’re not helping’_. 

“Can you help?” Margie eventually stammers, eyes still impossibly wide. 

“That’s why we’re here,” Dean tells her, waving his arms and indicating the house. “We just gotta find out who this poltergeist was and where he’s buried, then we’ll take care of it and you can go back to your life.”

She heaves a sigh and her hands are shaking slightly, yet her nod is firm. 

*

Margie shows them around, indicates the small side table that held the sculpture the poltergeist destroyed and Sam doesn’t ascribe any importance to it until they reach the daughter’s room. Dean’s EMF meter goes off the chart in here, which freaks out Margie even more, but Sam’s eyes are drawn to the many shards and fragments scattered over the floor. 

“Shannon took most of her creations with her, but…”

“Margie,” Sam pipes up as he makes a connection, “was the sculpture that got destroyed downstairs one of your daughter’s, too?”

“Yes, how did you…?”

“Maybe this is why the poltergeist’s so angry and attacked Shannon’s hands,” he explains, turning towards his brother. 

“Right, and smashes her stuff.”

“Shannon got into art school shortly before this all started,” Margie says.

Dean and Sam share a look. “How long’ve you been living here? Did you happen to know the previous owners?”

“Uh… about seven years… I’m not sure. My husband will know better; he should be home soon. I texted him after you came.”

*

Margie’s husband Mark is tall and bald, his suit cut well enough to cover up most of his soft middle. Office worker, Sam guesses, maybe higher up somewhere, judging by the expensive entertainment system he saw in the living room. 

“I knew Aaron pretty well. He was a co-worker of mine, single father; his wife died of cancer when their son was 10, I think”

“Did anything happen that caused him to move out?” Sam watches the man’s face for any hint of a lie and comes away with nothing, only a sad expression. 

“You could say that. His son Devon committed suicide. Aaron couldn’t stand being in the house after that, fell into depression, lost his job… He didn’t stay in touch, unfortunately.”

“You know why his son killed himself?” Dean throws in before Sam can. 

“Not really. But they were constantly fighting.”

“Maybe because his son was artistic? Liked to draw or maybe sculpt?” 

“How did you know?” Mark leans back on the sofa a bit as if to get away from them. 

“Sir, you’re dealing with a poltergeist who destroyed your daughter’s works and attacked her after getting into art school. The son’s the only connection we have so far.”

“Alri- wait, what? Poltergeist?”

“Your wife can fill you in,” Sam decides hurriedly since he can see a painting on the wall starting to tremble. “Do you know where Devon is buried?”

“Yes, why?”

“Margie, Mark,” Sam begins aiming for his sincerest expression, “I know you are religious and will probably object to what we are going to do. However, it is the only way we can get rid of the poltergeist.”

“What are you playing at?”

“We need to burn Devon’s remains.”

As if to prove Dean’s point, the painting suddenly crashes to the ground. Margie gasps and Mark flinches, putting an arm around his wife instinctively as the entire house begins to shake. 

“Everybody out,” Dean bellows, already holding the front door open – he probably zapped there; Sam didn’t see him move. 

Yet before either of them reaches the door, it slams shut and Dean is thrown across the hallway and out of sight. Sam wishes they had taken the iron rods with them, no matter how it would have looked to Margie. 

As if reading his mind, Dean suddenly appears in their middle, shocking both the civilians and Castiel into jerking back. He thrusts an iron rod each into Margie’s and Mark’s hands. 

“If it comes at you, hit it,” he orders, meeting Cas’ eyes who is holding his angel blade a second later. Dean tosses the third rod at Sam who catches it in the air and stabs at the presence he can suddenly feel on his left. 

He misses and slams into a wall a second later. Everything is rattling now, dishes in the cupboards clinking together, books falling off shelves and suddenly the flat screen across the room explodes. 

“Dean, please tell me you can see that fucker!”

“No worries, Sammy,” Dean says somewhere but Sam can hear the smirk in his voice. 

“At your left,” Cas shouts and Sam attacks reflexively. He thinks he grazed something though the house doesn’t stop shaking. 

“Look at this,” Dean shouts and Sam whirls around, holding up a sculpture. “I know fuck all about art but this looks pretty good… Probably why she got into art school. Did you apply, too?” he asks the room at large and if Sam didn’t have a lump on his head from where the poltergeist smashed him against a wall, he’d feel bad for the spirit. “Oh right, your Daddy didn’t like it.”

A chair flies at Cas who manages to block it before it does any damage and Dean lunges. Sam hates not being able to see the ghost, so he can only watch as something breaks Dean’s stride and apparently kicks him in the stomach hard enough to give him pause. The next moment Dean crashes to the floor, another chair shattering against his back. 

“Oh baby, you got no idea who you’re dealing with,” Dean chuckles and Sam can see blood on his lips from where he probably bit it when he fell. 

Then Dean is off, zapping all over the place, probably trying to confuse or provoke the spirit, or both. Sam backs off, placing himself next to Cas in front of the couple. 

The smell of sulfur fills Sam’s nose and it makes him sick no matter who’s the cause of it yet before he can feel guilty about that, Dean reappears in the center of the room and a purple light erupts from where his blade is apparently buried inside the spirit. 

Devon becomes visible for just a moment, long dark hair and angular features, before the light erupts and Sam has to shield his eyes. When he can see again, Dean is standing in the middle of the living room, considering his blade with a smile, eyes holes of black. 

“Good to know this thing works on ghosts.”

“Yeah, wonderful,” Sam mumbles, looking around to check on Margie and Mark, yet Cas’s face catches his eye. The angel is staring at Dean, not in disgust but in something akin to fascination, his mouth slightly open. 

“What are you!” Margie shrieks. 

Oh. She must have seen Dean’s eyes. 

“No threat to you, ma’am,” his brother says smoothly, but maybe it’s not that soothing when his lip is bleeding and he pockets his knife with a toothy grin. 

“Well, you shouldn’t have any more problems now. Your daughter can come back and everything will be back to normal,” Sam jumps in.

Margie seems to shocked to respond but Mark nods. “Thank you.”

Sam smiles softly, then pulls Cas along and they follow Dean towards the door. 

“Wait!” Margie calls after them, causing them to turn back. “If that was Devon’s… spirit, what is going to happen with his soul?”

Neither Sam nor Dean has an answer, so it is Cas who speaks up. “His soul will find peace now. He is saved.”

Something about Cas’ demeanor must have a calming effect on people, Sam wonders, for Margie doesn’t question it, just accepts his conclusion with a hesitant smile. 

*

They decide to salt and burn the corpse after all, just to be sure, and by the time Dean lights the match while ignoring Cas’ discomfort at the exhumation, dusk is falling over Colorado Springs. Dean drags them all to a small Mom and Pop they passed on their way to the cemetery, probably because he saw the “homemade pies” sign. Sometimes his brother is endearingly predictable. 

Sam notices the looks that pass between Dean and Cas, no matter how under the radar they think they’re flying. Huh. 

“Well, I’m beat and in contrast to you guys I actually need sleep, so I’m gonna catch some shut-eye,” he announces when they reach their rooms on the first floor parapet of the motel. Dean and Cas mumble goodnights and Sam clatters around his room a bit, changes in pajamas and a shirt before turning off the lights. Didn’t even take him three minutes so when he sneaks out of bed again as silently as he can, heads over to the window and chances a glance outside, Dean and Cas are still there. 

He can’t hear anything, not even muffled voices, and their lips aren’t moving, which is disappointing. Sam can’t deny how curious he is. Have they finally managed to get their act together or are they still dancing around each other?

Finally Dean smirks at Cas, angling his body towards him smoothly and saying something which can only be a cheesy come-on judging by the way Cas blushes. Then Dean sneaks an arm around Castiel’s waist and pulls him close, leans in to whisper something into his ear and Sam can tell despite the dim light that Castiel shivers in response. 

Then they’re gone, blinked out of existence. 

Sam can’t help the grin that splits his face. Finally. 

*

“Finally,” Dean growls when Castiel pushes him up against the door, rubbing his pelvis against Dean’s sinuously. 

Castiel latches onto Dean’s throat, sucking and biting enough to sting yet not enough to bruise, pouring the pent up sexual energy of an entire afternoon into the movement of his hips. 

If it hadn’t been for Sam and the civilians, Castiel would have ravaged Dean right then and there in the living room but as it was he had to wait. 

“Did you mean it?” he ask when he releases Dean’s skin, the man’s strong hands digging into his back as if trying to pull him even closer. 

“Mean what?”

“Outside.”

The grin Dean levels at his is downright lewd. “Sure.”

Castiel licks his lips, a wave of anticipation coursing through him as he unbuttons his white shirt, grateful that he doesn’t have to fiddle with a tie. Dean watches him strip every item of clothing until he is completely naked. Castiel’s erection twitches under the green-eyed scrutiny. 

“On your stomach,” Dean tells him and Castiel can feel his eyes on his back as he turns. 

He lies there on the bed furthest away from the door, hugging a pillow and listening to the sounds of Dean’s t-shirt hitting the floor, of shoes being toed off. Then he climbs onto the bed, straddling Castiel’s thighs and allowing his hands to roam over Castiel’s back. The soft touch makes him shiver and he can feel the goosebumps covering his skin where Dean’s fingers left their imprint. 

The first touch of Dean’s fingers on his ass makes his breath hitch. 

“I’m going to take you apart, angel,” Dean purrs as he places one hand on each side of his behind, gently pulling them apart and exposing him, causing an unbidden flush to rise in his cheeks. Castiel buries his face in the pillow.

“No need to be shy, Cas.”

And then there is a wet tongue right _there_ , licking a path down his cleft, brushing his perineum and ending with his testicles before making its way back again. Dean takes his time, applies his tongue to the ring of muscle until it relaxes under his ministrations, until Castiel can hardly hold back the impatient moan. 

He feels Dean’s responding chuckle more than he hears it, the vibrations doing nothing to calm him down. Then, finally, Dean dips his tongue inside and it is the strangest pleasant sensation Castiel has ever experienced. He could not have dreamt of anything like this. 

“Oh,” he gasps, but it comes out more like a keening sound than an actual word. 

Dean seems to take it as encouragement, building up a rhythm, pushing his tongue in as deep as it goes and when that isn’t enough anymore he spreads Castiel’s cheeks even further and delves in until his lips touch skin. 

Dean closes them around the pucker and _sucks_ , hard and unexpected and that’s the final straw – Castiel’s hips start rutting back after that, almost of their own accord, needing _more_ , needing it _now_. 

Dean moans against his skin and it grows messier, hungrier, obscene slurping sounds filling the room and Castiel didn’t think it could get any better until Dean slips a finger inside along with his tongue. 

It reaches the prostate where the tongue can’t and Dean exploits it ruthlessly. Castiel feels his cock leaking against the sheets as wave after wave of sparkling pleasure travels through his body. 

Dean shifts suddenly, sitting up and straddling Castiel’s thighs again. He whimpers at the loss of that hot tongue but it quickly turns into a moan when he feels Dean’s hard cock against the upper swell of his ass. Dean ruts in time with his fingers’ strokes, a few beads of precome coating the small of Castiel’s back. 

“Dean,” he pleads, unable to form a full sentence, hoping the man will understand. 

“What’s that?” The smirk is audible. “You want something, Cas?”

“Damn it, get inside me,” he growls bucking his hips up as if he actually thought he could throw Dean off. 

“You think you can come without a hand on your dick?” Hot breath in Castiel’s ear. He nods frantically, hoping it will make Dean hurry up. 

His wish is granted – the fingers withdraw and in their stead Castiel feels the blunt head of Dean’s cock nudge at his entrance. Dean caresses his sides with both hands, not quite pushing in but pressing against him enough that his cock doesn’t slip. 

“How you want it, Cas? Deep and slow or fast and rough?”

“Give me your worst,” he growls back, pushing himself up on his elbows and successfully impaling himself on Dean’s erection. The startled gasp he receives in response is delicious. 

“Oh, two can play dirty,” Dean purrs, bottoming out and pulling back immediately, setting a ruthless rhythm and at the same time bringing his arms around Castiel’s torso. 

Dean pulls Castiel up until his back is against Dean’s chest, never ceasing his thrusts and _oh_ , the change in angle is absolutely perfect. 

Castiel can’t quite control the sounds he is making. He is covered in Dean, Dean’s hands, Dean’s body heat, Dean’s cock inside him, Dean’s mouth on his neck and it is more than he ever dreamt he could have. 

When his orgasm hits it punches all air out of Castiel’s lungs. He spills his release all over the mattress with Dean growling in his ear as Castiel clenches around his length. 

Dean shudders against him moments later, buried so deep inside him that Castiel can feel his seed fill him and it should make him feel dirty but it doesn’t. 

They collapse in a pile of limbs, exhausted and sated.

*

Dean holds onto Cas for as longs as he can before his skin starts to itch from sweat and the remaining grime of the day. 

Dean cleans them up with a wet cloth from the bathroom and by the time he comes back to the bed the angel is obviously asleep while Dean is bursting with energy. Last night they went for hours, pausing only long enough to shower. But Cas said he needs to sleep every now and then, so Dean isn’t worried. 

Well, he is. Not about the sleeping but about Cas in general. At least he won’t die once his grace runs out or Dean would’ve searched the entire earth to find an angel whose grace they can take. Hell, Dean would’ve tied Cas to a chair and confined him to a ring of holy oil if the stubborn bastard had refused. 

But that’s not it; he’s becoming human. Cas will sleep and eat and get sick and die while Dean can’t. 

The thought burns underneath his skin like the fires of damnation. 

He needs a distraction. Cas will sleep for a while. 

He dresses and zaps down to hell, releases his anger on a fresh soul that breaks within an hour. He feels better after. 

Back in the motel room, he sheds his clothes and climbs back into bed, plastering himself all over Cas’ back with one arm over his chest so he can feel his heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take this porn as an apology for the long wait! Gosh, how I love rimming scenes in fanfic… 
> 
> And I’m turning into a Merrick fangirl… Should that worry me? Also, did you hear that 10x05 will be a musical episode?! I’m so excited! (If I’m not thinking about all the ways it could be really awful, that is) 
> 
> **Now, regarding the next update:** My semester is over and now I have two essays to write. One of them is about Sherlock… and the detective and his blogger are taking over my life. So I don’t know how soon the next chapter will be up. I’ll do my best to update within a week or a week and a half but no promises. Thanks for your understanding!


	12. Episode 11 - Behold The Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin seeks out his father, begging him for help while Beth pursues another goal. Oh, and there is a Griffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see – for which I am utterly sorry! I got a translation job, which added 4 hours per day to my usual essay-writing schedule… which meant that my Muse went on strike. But now I’m back! 
> 
> Thank you all for being patient with me! You’re the best!

The world of demons and monsters is still new to Gavin, as is conjuring them. He understands by now why his father and the red-haired woman found it so amusing when he called them angels – Beth has been explaining a lot of things to him. 

Spells and magic, though… He’s not sure how to feel about that. It seems like devil’s worship – then again, that’s basically what this actually is, eh?

Gavin shakes his head, checking for the third time that he has all the necessary ingredients. He arranges everything according to the drawing Beth left, then rips the parchment, no, the paper apart and hides the remains in his pocket. 

He lights a match, throws it delicately into the bowl – and jumps back when the contents ignite and basically explode in his face. 

Gavin coughs, a hand on his chest. 

“My, my, I hope no one’s given you cigarettes yet, darling,” comes an eerily familiar voice. 

“They did,” Gavin coughs, “and they were ghastly!”

Crowley tsks, eyes taking in the shabby barn Gavin chose for the summoning. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? And tell me quickly, I’ve got appointments to keep, my boy.”

Gavin takes a deep breath, concentrating on his voice. “I need ya help,” he pleads in his most pathetic whine. According to Beth, it is quite pathetic. “I’m at my wit’s end, father. There are… people after me. Thugs. Awful people! I can’t outrun ‘em any longer.” His eyes are wide, shining with unshed tears. 

Crowley’s face doesn’t soften. “What d’you want me to do about it, eh?”

“You’re the bloody King of Hell! Ya have, I don’t know… I need protection! Please!”

“I gave you your life, you ungrateful fool! I could have let you die on that sodding ship!”

“But ya didn’t, ya thought I could make it here, but I’m not like ya… Father, please. Anything?”

“Well, I don’t have any personnel to dispense on your sorry arse, Gavin.”

Gavin swallows, wringing his hands in fake desperation. “But… there’s got to be something, father… I’ll be in the ground before the week is out… don’t you have any, I don’t know – creatures? Monsters? I bet Hell’s full of ‘em.”

Crowley’s expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe. How do you feel about dogs, Gavin?”

“Dogs?” He feigns surprise. On the inside, he’s cheering. 

“Dogs. I have a few hellhounds at my disposal. I guess I could, uh, entrust one in your care? They do make fierce bodyguards.” His father smirks, probably at the memory of something gruesome his dogs have done. 

“Will they listen to me?”

“If I bind them to you. I’ll need a bit of your blood, son.”

“Better a bit now than all of it later at the hand of a scoundrel!” he exclaims, extending his arms towards his father, stepping closer to the sigil on the floor. 

What follows is surprisingly quick. Crowley calls a hound, he performs a spell, and suddenly, from one moment to the next, Gavin can _see_ , actually bloody see the creature. Red eyes, sharp teeth. He fights the urge to run. 

“She won’t hurt you. You’re her master now.”

“Th-thank you,” he stammers. “Thank you, father!”

“Hush, show your gratitude by releasing me, I wasn’t kidding about my full calendar.”

“Of course! Apologies!” 

Gavin scrambles to break the paint on the floor and within the blink of an eye, Crowley is gone. Just as soon, Gavin’s face morphs into a triumphant smile. 

“It worked!” he tells the hound. “It bloody worked!” 

The dog just barks at him, wagging its tail.

*

*

Cas is completely silent in his sleep. It should probably creep Dean out how anyone, let alone a friggin’ angel, could make so little noise but instead it’s enthralling. Or whatever, not that he’s thinking about that. 

Just like he ain’t thinking about how Cas looks while he’s sleeping, his face soft and free of worry lines, almost – adorable. 

So yeah, Dean’s having a grade a chick-flick moment while he’s watching Cas sleep next to him, whatever. It’s just… he never thought he might have the chance. Still can’t believe it, as a matter of fact. 

Cas, angel of the Lord, in bed with him, every night for over a week now. They returned from the Poltergeist hunt and while Cas is still off during the day, coordinating the hunt for Douchebag Number One, he never failed to come back at night. 

Made it a bit difficult to find time for his sparring sessions in the pit, but Dean can get creative when he has to. 

Creative… That’s what Merrick called him last night, when Dean thought of a new use for the heated iron plates. Something in Dean’s chest constricts faintly at the memory and he shakes his head, rolling onto his back so that he isn’t facing Cas anymore. 

He’s on limited time here, not like he doesn’t know it. Cas won’t stick around forever. Fuck, Dean probably won’t either. Just a question of who of them stops it first – Cas by loosing what’s left of his juice or Dean by eventually crossing over the edge. 

Dean’s grip on himself is slipping; there ain’t no denying it. The past few days have been filled with moments when he caught himself thinking about the pit, about his Knights, about when Crowley’d call with the next job already. Dean can’t stand more than a day without some violence anymore, can feel the bile rise in his throat as soon as the twenty-four hour mark passes. 

Then, there’s the memory loss. Dean knows he’s down in the pit, but he can’t for the life of him recall what he’s been doing down there sometimes – maybe he tortured, maybe killed… But he’s always better afterwards, like a friggin’ junkie after a fix. And even when Dean does remember, it’s flashes of more pain, more screaming, more blood – just _more_ , ‘cause obviously his tolerance is improving. 

Heaving a sigh he turns back towards his angel, drinking in the sight of him. 

He’s about to reach out and brush a strand of dark hair out of his face when a knock sounds through the room. 

Dean’s out of the bed immediately, trying desperately to find his pants ‘cause that’s either Sam or Kevin and neither of them know that Cas is his – what, exactly? Boyfriend? Fuck-buddy? None of the words sound right…

The door opens just as Dean picks up a shirt from the floor.

“Sammy, I didn’t say you could come in!” he snaps, hoping against hope that his brother won’t chance a glance at the bed. 

“Well, this can’t wait, Dean. Cas, buddy, wake up,” he adds softly and Dean blinks. 

Upon haring his name, Cas shifts and stretches a bit, the sheet riding lower on his chest, revealing his nipples and a few hickeys Dean left there and there’s no question about why Cas is naked, not even a raised eyebrow from Sam who taps his foot a bit like he always does when he’s impatient. 

“We’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Dean tells him, retrieving Cas’ pants from the chair in the corner. 

“Two minutes, I’m not kidding,” Sam insists before turning around, giving Dean the chance to pounce. 

“Why’s Sammy so chill about you being here?” 

Cas stares up at him, processing. “Good morning to you, too, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, sunshine and kittens, Cas, come on, spill.”

“After we returned from Colorado Springs,” the angel finally explains, snatching the pants from Dean, “your brother took me aside and told me he was happy for us. Didn’t he do the same with you?”

“No,” Dean grumbles, flopping down on the mattress with a huff. In an instant, Cas’ arms are winding themselves around his torso. Dean relaxed into the other man’s body heat without a second thought. 

“He probably didn’t want to make things awkward.”

“Well, good for him.”

Instead of answering, Cas buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, breathing in deeply. After a moment, he pulls back. “Let’s not keep him waiting; it sounded urgent.”

Cas presses a brief kiss behind Dean’s ear and then moves off him, shrugging on yesterday’s shirt as he leaves the room, giving Dean not many options that aren’t following him. 

“So, you wanna tell us why you’re barging in my room at ass o’clock in the morning?” 

Sam sets down his shake – disgustingly healthy, all green and mushy and gross enough to make Dean shudder and think of bacon – an runs a hand through his hair. 

“Gabriel called… There’s a Griffin on the loose.”

Dean stares. “A Griffin? A fucking Griffin?”

“According to him, yeah.”

“They are extremely rare,” Cas pitches in. “Gabriel would never joke about such a creature.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sam agrees, “so we gotta do some digging. There’s not a lot of lore on them, and we need to be prepared.”

“What, we killin’ the thing?”

His brother nods. “It’s attacking cattle down in Oklahoma and scaring several farmers. So far no human casualties, though.”

“Then let’s make sure it stays that way,” Dean says, already pulling up a book. 

*

**San Francisco, California**

Smoke spirals into the sky, painted different shades of pink and blue by the rising sun. The flames are still eating away at the building when Alex slams her foot down onto the brake, bringing the truck to a stop when she sees the army of firemen and police officers. 

For a moment she toys with the idea of taking on the disguise of an FBI agent, but a glance in the mirror proves what she thought: the shadows underneath her eyes and the dull quality of her hair will make convincing anyone she’s anything else but a runaway living out of her car pretty hard. 

Instead she park her truck around the corner and approaches a group of people huddled together under several blankets, breaking into a run when she comes into their field of vision. 

“Oh no! What happened?!” she exclaims, clutching her chest and staring at the men and women with wide eyes. 

“Gas leak, they say,” one of them volunteers. His face has deep lines despite his young age. His skin is ashen, his cheeks hollow. “Place ain’t the most well kept, is it.”

“Did anyone die?!”

Another man nods gravely. He can’t be over thirty yet he looks old and worn, with lacerations on his skin and greasy hair. “There was an explosion. Most of the people in there didn’t make it. You looking for someone?”

“My cousin… I wanted to get him back… Get him to rehab…” Alex’ voice breaks on the last word and the men’s eyes soften. 

“Most of us were on the first floor,” a woman croaks. She must have been using for over a decade at least – she is by far the worst looking of them all. Moments like these remind Alex that she should be glad that the only monsters she has to fight can be killed swiftly, unlike drug addictions. “If your cousin was here tonight, he won’t be needing rehab any longer.”

Alex nods, wiping the fake tears out of her eyes before she wanders off. Hiding in the waning shadows, she overhears the firemen cursing, saying something about resistant flames and needing more fire water… 

A quick walk-around is the last thing she needs to confirm it. Her EMF meter spikes, placing something supernatural or other at the scene. 

Alex kicks the side of the truck in frustration. She’s loosing. More than that – she’s running out of time. She has a mental list and it’s getting ticked off incredibly fast. 

She needs help. She needs the guys who stopped it the last time. 

*

**Great Falls, Montana**

It is incredibly refreshing to be alone again. Beth might not have spent that much time with Gavin yet, but even the smallest amount is enough to make even the most patient of demons want to strangle the man. 

How anyone that naïve and impressionable could survive that long in the world they are living in will forever remain a mystery. Too bad that they need him, and dearly at that. 

Beth is under strict orders to ensure Gavin’s well-being and only Merrick’s potential wrath should she fail are holding Beth back from putting a pillow over Gavin’s head while he sleeps. 

She curses under her breath. Brilliant – even when the idiot is not there, he manages to dampen her mood. 

She seeks distraction in the security guard manning the gated community in Great Falls, Montana. And by ‘distraction’ she is referring to slicing his throat and watching the blood leak onto the smooth floor of the guardhouse. 

It is late at night and the residents are all asleep, if the dark facades are any indication. Beth reaches her destination quickly and finds a window at the back of the large house ajar, which becomes her way into the residence. The girl’s room is obvious, revolting Gryffindor stickers adorning the door and a similarly fashioned name plate proclaiming to anyone who sees it that the room belongs to ‘Mary Potter’. 

Beth rolls her eyes. If she hadn’t taken such great care in selecting the child, she would have turned around and looked for another candidate. But it has to be her. 

In the end, not even Harry Potter himself could have helped little Mary. She is unconscious and bound in the backseat of Beth’s car before anyone would have managed to say ‘Quidditch’. 

*

“Come on, how hard can it be to find a fucking Griffin! Not exactly inconspicuous, are they?” 

“Shouting at the night sky won’t make it any easier, kiddo,” Gabriel snaps back, exiting the farm after Dean and slamming the gate from what Dean can hear. 

“No luck?” Sam asks when they reach the Impala, not even looking up from the laptop. 

“What’s it look like, Sammy?”

“Maybe it is asleep. I believe even mythical creatures need some rest.”

“Cassie, that’s just wishful thinking. I bet’cha the thing’s still out and about, stealing beef from McDonald’s.”

“The last farm it hit supplies Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Sam corrects, eyes still clued to the screen and missing the archangel’s epic eye roll. 

“So not the point, sweet cheeks.”

“What now? Tactical retreat to the hotel?” Dean suggests, resisting the temptation to scratch his arm where the Mark is making itself felt. They’ve been on the hunt for almost 36 hours and last night Dean didn’t get a chance to sneak downstairs since Cas was very much awake – and eager… 

“Apparently,” Gabriel huffs and Dean’s already cheering internally when of course his gigantor of a brother has to ruin his night. 

“No, wait! I think I got something!”

“What?”

“Someone near Woodward just called 911, apparently believes someone’s breaking into his farm. I looked him up; he’s a large farmer and keeps his animals outdoors – perfect hunting ground for our birdie.”

“Birdie? Dude.”

“What? I can hardly call it ‘gigantic eagle-lion-hybrid’. Plus, it has wings.”

“We could call it Buckbeak,” Cas suggests and it takes Dean a second to get it, yet when he does, he can’t hold back the snort. 

A snort which turns into a full-belly laugh when all Sammy does is nod and say “Alright”.

“A bunch o’ nerds, that’s what you are,” he teases, already rounding the Impala to drive them up north. 

*

As it turns out, police siren and Griffins don’t mix too well, so they’re chasing the damn beast further west and the only reason they’re able to even do that is the blood trail. 

“Holy crack on a cracker, how can a bunch of overbred oxen hurt a Griffin?” Gabriel comments when they discover the first stains on the green grass. 

Dean couldn’t have answered even if he had something to contribute. He’s mesmerized by the thick red liquid on the ground, his pulse quickening. He breathes in deeply before his head snaps around. 

“That way,” he announces and runs off. 

“What the –“ is all he catches from Gabriel’s reply before he is out of earshot and hot on the creature’s heels. 

He finds the creature near some sort of lake, blood dripping down from a gash in its shoulder. Dean assesses the beast – it’s huge, and like the lore says, half lion, half eagle. If Dean had to guess, he’d say its white wings stretch wider than sixty feet and its paws, respectively claws, could easily grab an overgrown cow. 

Its large beak is trying to clean the feathers, gently prying them apart while releasing high-pitched sounds. Apparently it’s in pain already, so the pain Dean’s about to add to that won’t be too much trouble. 

He doesn’t sneak up on it, merely step into view and immediate the thing is on its feet, screeching at him. He’s a bit disappointed – roaring would have been so much more intimidating. 

“You wanna do this the hard way or the easy way?” Dean taunts it, craning his neck a bit to meet its eyes now that it’s standing. A flapping of wings tells him that his entourage has arrived and he swallows. Maybe not the hard way, then. A clean kill will probably have to do… 

He tightens his grip on the blade and lunges forward, aiming for the beast’s throat but a large wing breaks his momentum and flings him aside where Dean rolls onto his feet immediately, ready for another attack. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Gabriel and Cas, angel blades in hand, while Sammy – what else? – is filming the Griffin like Dean knew he would. 

Dean zaps in front of the beast and brings the blade down but it’s damn fast, evading his blow and jumping over him, proving that its wings still work, even though it has to land after a few feet in the air. 

Gabriel shifts his stance but Dean ain’t having any of that. 

“Stay back,” he bellows. “This kill’s mine!” 

And if he uses a bit of biokinetics to underscore his point, Gabe can bitch about it later. 

Dean teleports above the creature, letting gravity do its job until he slams into the Griffin’s back. It immediately buckles to push him off, its tail whipping around like mad. It hits Dean between the shoulder blades, drawing a painful grunt from him as he grabs the feathers tighter with his left hand and raises the blade with his right. 

It’s slippery, though – blood from the wound is oozing over his fingers and makes it more difficult to hold on. He slips, threatens to fall off, yet in the last possible second buries the blade where the torso meets the thing’s neck. 

The Griffin howls, starts thrashing wildly. Dean holds on, fends off attacks from wings and tail until the beast crashes to the ground and he can retrieve his weapon only to pierce its skin again. Where other knives might have trouble penetrating the thick skin, the first blade runs through it like butter. 

It’s over quickly after that – Dean keeps stabbing the thing, blood rushing out of the wounds like waterfalls and the power, the energy, envelopes Dean like a cocoon. It’s like a drug, the smell of the red substance filling his nostrils and the wetness coating his arms and covering his clothes. Even when the creature stills, the high persists, making Dean’s muscles shake as if under a current. 

It’s the silence that pulls Dean back. He turns around to find his brother and both angels staring at him with wide eyes, Sammy and Gabe mostly intimidated as it seems, Cas, however… Cas’ eyes have become darker suddenly. Or maybe that is just the light. 

Turning his eyes from black back to their natural green takes more effort than Dean would like, but he doesn’t let it show. He wipes the blade clean on his thigh, writing off the pair of jeans as a lost cause, and approaches the others. 

“What’re we gonna do with it now?” he asks, locking eyes with each of them, starting with Cas and ending with Sam, who’s the first to break out of his stupor. 

“Get it back to the bunker, if possible. Its feathers and claws and, well, basically everything’s supposed to have mystical powers.”

“And if you need blood, just let American Psycho here wring out his shirt.”

“But Patrick Bateman always took care to wear a rain coat to protect his clothes from the blood of his victims,” Cas argues, tilting his head at the archangel while Dean bursts into laughter. So he’s giddy after the most awesome kill of his life, so what. 

“You’re way too literal, Cassie,” Gabriel grumbles. “And yo, Dean-o, stop laughing your bloodied ass off and help me zap this monster back to Kansas.”

Dean manages, but it takes a few minutes. 

*

Beth stops in her tracks when she reached the rendezvous point and Gavin is sitting back on his heels, petting an invisible dog that’s apparently rolling around on the floor. 

“By Satan, you’re not supposed to bond with the thing!” 

Immediately there is a growling sound but a quick gesture from Gavin makes it stop. 

“But he’s so adorable! Well, if ya look past the red eyes and the, uh, rather intimidating exterior…”

“He’s part of the ritual, Gavin.”

“Only his blood! Please, Beth, how much blood can we need?”

“A lot.”

“But Bouncer’s such a good dog!”

“Bouncer?”

“Yes!” Gavin glares at her as if daring her to say something about his choice of pet name. The only thing missing is him stomping his foot and the image of the petulant five-year-old would be complete. 

Beth counts to ten inside her head to keep her from overreacting. The last thing she needs is Gavin deciding they’re not doing the ritual because he has grown attached to his stupid hellhound. 

“We can try it with less blood, though if it fails, we _will_ use all of it. Agreed?”

Gavin doesn’t look like he does but he nods nonetheless.

“The girl’s in the trunk, as is the Griffin’s blood. We better begin.”

“Did the Griffin give you problems?”

“No, it was incredibly easy wounding a giant half eagle, half lion beast from ancient times which also happens to be incredibly fast and possess almost impenetrable skin.”

Gavin averts his eyes, then sways a little – apparently Bouncer has rubbed its head against his leg, attempting a soothing gesture. Gavin reaches down to pat its head (Beth thinks, it’s not like she can see it) and follows her to the car where she hands him the jar of blood with a warning glance before pulling the girl out of the backseat. 

Beth has never been unnecessarily cruel, so she doesn’t wake the girl. She will bleed out in her unconscious state and they don’t have a screaming infant at their hands. 

“We’re ready,” she says, and Gavin whispers something to Bouncer. The only sign of the hound’s departure is the dirt it splashes everywhere. 

*

“Alright, kids,” Gabriel announces while he’s picking a feather off his shirt, “I gotta get back to the folks upstairs, see what progress we’re making or if Metatron’s decided to fly off to Hawaii and sip cocktails for the rest of his life…”

Then his brother turns towards him and Castiel does not like the way he is grinning in the slightest. “Speaking of cocktails,” Gabe teases and Castiel can’t help the color rising in his cheeks. “Need a lift or wanna help Black Eyes clean up?”

“I should not neglect my duty,” Castiel starts, knowing it is the right thing to do even if every fiber of his being wants to stay right here.

“You sure, Cassie?”

Castiel swallows. “Do you need me right away?” 

Gabriel fixes him with a gaze he cannot read. His brother might not be too happy about the recent developments between Dean and Castiel, yet Gabriel has not put a stop to it. Then again, they have never actually talked about it either- instead Castiel has been on the receiving end of several judgmental looks. 

“One hour. I’ll tell your fan club you’re helping with filing away the Griffin.”

Gabriel doesn’t look happy, but his words stand, so when the archangel has bidden Sam goodbye, Castiel steps closer, observing Sam as he thumbs through books, probably to determine which parts have to be conserved how. 

“He’s in the shower and I am not going to think about why you’re following him there,” Sam tells him without taking his eyes off the ancient text in his hand. 

Thankfully Castiel has learnt about the humans’ aversion to thinking about members of their family in sexual situations, so instead of telling Sam the reason as to why he is going after Dean, he contends himself with a “Thank you” and leaves through the library. 

He doesn’t knock when he reaches the bathroom. He can hear the shower running and a cloud of steam from the hot water greets him when he pushes the door open. Yet Dean hasn’t stepped into the stream of hot water yet; he is taking deep breaths, wringing his hands, which are still shaking. 

Castiel reaches out instinctively, aiming to clasps Dean’s hands in his own, yet the other man jumps back, almost crashing into shower curtains. 

“Cas? What the hell?”

“I thought you might need some help washing the blood off,” Castiel explains, biting his lower lip to broadcast his underlying intentions. 

Seeing Dean swallow when he catches up sends a shiver down Castiel’s spine and he takes another step into the room, closing the door behind him. 

“Shower sex, Cas? Classy.”

“And you’re still wearing too many clothes.”

“Why don’t you do something about it then, my angel?”

He doesn’t need a more obvious invitation. Another step and he is standing directly in front of Dean, close enough to reach out and simply tear the bloodied shirt off, sending buttons to the floor. Dean’s breath hitches when Castiel’s eyes roam his chest and stomach, the skin slightly red from the blood that has soaked through the fabric. 

There is a rather long and wide streak of red across Dean’s cheek, drops of blood caught in his stubble and Castiel cannot say why, but somehow the blood makes Dean even more beautiful than he usually is. 

“Take off your pants,” he tells him, stepping back while already unbuttoning his own shirt and loosening his own bet. 

Moments later they are both naked and stepping underneath the hot jet of water, which turns different shades of pink when it comes into contact with the blood covering Dean’s body. Castiel cannot hold back any longer, so he lets his fingers glide across planes of skin and muscle, watching how Dean’s eyelids are drooping and his pupils dilating. A glance downward confirms that the hunter is just as aroused as Castiel is himself. 

He closes the gap between them and wraps a hand around both their cocks as he grips Dean’s neck and pulls him into a kiss that is neither slow nor sweet, but passionate and dirty, with Dean biting his lower lip and making him gasp. 

A second later Dean’s presence is gone and Castiel opens his mouth to complain, yet the sound morphs into a moan when Dean’s lips close around his erection. Dean, wet and naked, with remnants of blood still covering his cheeks and torso, his mouth moving up and down Castiel’s cock immediately makes the list of the most erotic things Castiel has ever seen. 

His hips buckle when he looks down again, and he would murmur an apology if Dean’s hands weren’t holding onto the back of his thighs and encouraging him to thrust into the velvety heat, again and again until he can feel Dean’s throat constrict around him and hear the chocking sound over the noise of the shower. 

Castiel climaxes incredibly quickly, stars erupting behind his eyelids as he throws back his head and hits it on the shower wall. Dean keeps sucking gently, letting him ride out the aftershocks like he knows Castiel likes, then Dean is on his feet, spinning Castiel around and draping his body across his back. 

For a moment Castiel thinks Dean is going to prepare him but apparently the hunter is not patient enough now, for he merely pushes Castiel’s legs further apart and slides his erection between his thighs. His legs still feel wobbly, but Castiel manages to close them and engage the muscles, granting Dean the friction he desperately needs. 

Dean’s fingernails are digging into Castiel’s hips, are surely going to leave crescent-shaped marks behind that will take longer to heal because of Castiel’s waning grace. If it were up to him, Castiel would keep them forever. 

The thrusts are harder, sharper, faster now and suddenly Dean sinks his teeth into the skin of Castiel’s shoulder. His cock twitches feebly as a new wave of arousal courses through him, but it is too soon. Dean definitely needs to fuck Castiel for real soon and bite his neck while he does, he decides as a moan escapes him, which only makes Dean bite down harder. 

Dean comes with a strangled grunt, stilling behind him and wrapping his arms around Castiel’s torso as they simply stand there underneath the showerhead, letting the water do its job. 

Castiel wishes he could preserve this moment forever, remain here in this bathroom with Dean until the end of time, without worrying about the gates of Heaven, or Metatron or Dean’s daily trips to Hell that he thinks Castiel hasn’t noticed. 

Just Dean and him, until the end. 

Too bad it is just a fantasy, Castiel thinks as he turns around within Dean’s arms and kisses him for all he is worth. 

*

“You need help with that, Sammy?” Dean asks as he and Cas emerge from the shower, their hair still damp. 

Dean didn’t want to linger too long, practically made his escape as soon as they were both clean again and the water wasn’t turning pink any longer. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but somehow the mood in the bathroom became a hell of a lot more intense than his time with Cas usually does. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Dean. I thought I’d just take apart this gigantic Griffin all by myself. As soon as I find a knife that’ll cut its skin, that is.”

“Ain’t you glad that I got just the thing?” Dean chuckles, tossing the first blade across the room to where Sammy is crouching next to the lifeless creature. Sam catches it with one hand, obviously surprised that Dean just relinquishes it like that. So he’s in a generous mood after his shower; not the most unusual thing to have happened. 

“Hi Dean, hi Cas,” Kevin says. He is sitting on the floor a little further away, books spread out around him as well.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, kid? It’s a school night,” Dean jokes, drawing a chuckle from the prophet. 

“Sam woke me up, thought I’d want to see a Griffin before he disembodies it.”

“Yeah, well, that ain’t something you see every day.”

“I should check in with Gabriel,” Cas says suddenly. “I’d love to help, but-“

They never hear the rest of the sentence, ‘cause in that moment, Kevin gives a sharp cry of pain and clutches his head. Everyone’s next to him in a second but whatever it was, it seems to have passed as quickly as it came. 

“What the hell was that?”

“A vision?” Sam asks. “Did you see something?”

“Not that kind of prophet,” Kevin grunts, rubbing his temples. 

“Well?”

“Nothing, just – pain. And a sense of… Something. Urgency? Like something’s going on?”

“That really narrows it down,” Dean grumbles, yet a second later, Sam’s phone starts ringing. Dean meets Sam’s eyes, marginally creeped out. 

“It’s Gabriel?” Sam tells them after he glances at the caller ID. “Hey, you’re on speaker.”

“I’d love to make a dirty comment about our brothers, honey muffin, but I’ve got bigger things on my mind – we found Metatron.”

“What? Where?” Cas asks, beating both Dean and Sam to it. 

“Mississippi, we’re moving in on him soon. Cassie, I’m coming to get you on the way, so get your ass out of the bunker.”

“You want our help, too?” Sam interjects, already handing the blade back to Dean. 

“Definitely. See you in a moment. And I mean, _one moment_.”

“What about me?”

“We’ll get you when we need you. I ain’t risking out biggest asset, so stay put, alright?” Gabriel decides and Kevin slumps down again. 

The line goes dead but Dean’s already zapped the three of them to their armory and two minutes later, all of them are gunned up and outside the bunker, ready for their archangel taxi.

 

*

The lifeless form of Mary is lying on the ground next to Beth, who watches as Merrick intones the ritual, pouring the Griffin’s blood into the bowl already filled with the girl’s. 

Gavin is watching with wide eyes, holding onto his stupid dog that complained about loosing blood but remains loyal to his master. 

The hellhound’s blood is the last ingredient, the dark liquid mixing with the rest and starting to glow briefly as Merrick finishes the incantation. 

Beth swallows as she watches Merrick beckon Gavin forward and hand over the bowl. The time traveller takes a deep breath, nods once, recites his part of the spell and then squeezes his eyes shut as he touches the bowl to his lips. He has to drain it all at once and Beth can’t imagine it tasting good. 

Gavin manages, though barely. He coughs and splutters pathetically once he has downed every last drop, but from one moment to the next he doubles over and screams, which makes his dog bark angrily. 

The earth is shaking as Gavin begins to glow, brighter and brighter, emanating a deep red light and Beth has to shield her eyes until recedes again, leaving Gavin standing in the middle of the sigil, outwardly the same yet standing straighter. Prouder. Stronger. 

Beth exchanges a glance with Merrick, whose lips twist into a toothy smile. 

“Behold the False Prophet, agent of the Morningstar,” Merrick bellows and the moment would have been incredibly eerie and worthy of its significance if Gavin hadn’t decided that jumping up and down is a perfectly fine reaction to becoming a conductor of the apocalypse. 

Beth groans and seeks for a wall to bang her head against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert-malicious-laughter-here* My plot is unfolding nicely! Just three more chapters and the mid-season catastrophe is upon us! You should probably fasten your seatbelts – it is going to be a hard ride… 
> 
> I live on air and kudos/comments! Let me know what you think :)


	13. Episode 12 - Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angels close in on Metatron while Sam and Dean are investigating strange occurrences in New Madrid, Missouri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is thickening and I can’t wait to write it all! I hope you’ll be as thrilled about my plans as I am :)

Kevin heaves a sigh, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to improve his prophetic vision. So far, it hasn’t worked one bit. 

Sam and Dean have been gone for two days, with Sam checking in at regular intervals with updates, while Kevin has barely slept. Gabriel will need the spell as soon as they have Metatron in custody and Kevin still has no clue as to how they are supposed to combine the ingredients. If the tablet weren’t the word of God, Kevin would love to throw it against the bunker wall and let it shatter into a thousand pieces. 

He rises from his chair in the library, cracking his back and stretching his arms before he makes his way to the kitchen to get another Red Bull. He downs it in one go.

On his way back, his cell phone goes off in his pocket – _Sam_ , the display reads. 

“Hello.”

“Kevin, how are you?”

“Stuck. I’m not getting anything. Nada. It’s as if the tablet doesn’t want me to do anything,” he grumbles, barely managing to hold back a longer tirade of curses and complaints. “How’s the search for Metatron going?”

“If one more person tells us that he’s the new Messiah, I won’t guarantee for anyone’s safety…” 

“No luck, then?”

“He’s just too fast. Whenever we reach his most recent destination, we’re too late. And we haven’t gotten our hands on any of his followers either… By the looks of it, Gabe would probably allow Dean to go all dungeon master on them.”

“Sounds like –“ Kevin begins, yet the sounding of the bunker’s alarm cuts him off. He rushes to the control room, taking in the blinking lights and the loud noise. 

“Kevin, what’s wrong?!” Sam calls out on the other end of the line but before Kevin can fill him in, the ground starts shaking. 

“It’s an earthquake!” Kevin explains hastily, taking in the readings but they’re all just as meaningless as the symbols on the tablet. 

“In Kansas?”

“No, wait, it says here whatever it’s coming from – Missouri.”

“Missouri? What? Hang on, we’re coming!”

After that, the line goes dead. Another wave hits and Kevin sways on his feet, gripping the console for support. Then he remembers the tables, lying precariously near the edge of the table when he last saw it. 

Kevin jumps the steps and then throws himself onto the floor, arms outstretched and catches the stone moments before it would have hit the ground, adrenaline chasing the blood through his veins. 

Well, at least now Kevin’s awake. 

“Kevin?!” 

Sam’s voice. He scrambles to his feet and into the control room where he finds both Winchesters as well as the two angels, wearing expressions in various shades of worry. Dean mostly looks annoyed while his brother’s furrowed brows relax as soon as he catches a glimpse of Kevin. 

He motions to the tablet in his hands as a way of explanation. 

“Can someone please shut up that alarm? That sound’s terrible!” Gabriel complains, ushering Sam towards the control panels. Sam pushes a few buttons, successfully silencing it. Kevin watches as his eyes glide across the meters, taking it all in. 

“It was an earthquake, but the computer’s picking up all kinds of signals. I bet that wasn’t a natural occurrence.”

“Yeah, but Missouri?” Dean asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Suddenly, Sam’s expression clears. “Of course! The New Madrid Fault Line!”

“English, Sammy.”

“It’s a seismic zone, ending just below New Madrid. There was a huge earthquake at the beginning of the 19th century or something; scientists still have no idea why it’d be a danger zone because it’s in the middle of a tectonic plate.”

“So it might not have been supernatural in origin?” Castiel asks, tilting his head at Sam. 

“But the computer detected signs. Something has to be going on.”

“Doesn’t look like Metadouche’s MO, though,” Dean argue. 

“Unless he’s planning on playing the Messiah with the victims, heal a few broken legs,” Gabriel says, lips curling into a grin. “Oh, that’d be precious – the dickbag orchestrates his own natural disasters, it’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, but according to Twitter, ‘Marv The Messiah’ just was in Washington, curing a kid of leukemia. He couldn’t have caused the earthquake, not personally,” Sam explains, holding out his phone that shows a tweet. 

Gabriel groans, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright, might not be the most coherent theory. So take your demon and zap off to investigate; Cassie and I’ll pay a visit to the capital. Kevin,” he adds, turning around. “Stay put. Don’t go out. This is the safest place for you right now and we can’t afford to lose you, capiche?”

Kevin nods curtly, sparing a smile for Sam. Moments later, the bunker is empty once more. 

*

*

Dean teleports them the almost 700 miles to New Madrid in less than a second. It used to weird Sam out, that his brother of all people is now able to do things like that, but over the past weeks the novelty has worn off and Sam can appreciate the advantages. 

Like now when they need to canvas the area as fast as demonly possible and Dean is off again, leaving the faintest trace of sulfur behind. Alright, so Sam would have appreciated it if Dean had informed him of his decision to split up, but well… Telegraphing his intentions hasn’t been his brother’s style since he got the Mark. 

Sam heads south, the afternoon sun burning down and reflecting off the water of the Mississippi River, which curves just below the city, separating Kentucky from Missouri. If he remembers what he heard about the Fault Line correctly, it ends southwest of New Madrid, which would put the river into the seismic zone. 

It takes him a while before he gets close enough to make out the riverside, where he finds a large production plant blocking his view. He jogs down the road until he can go around it and lay eyes on some sort of river island. Sam can’t explain it to himself why that place in particular is so enticing, yet one moment later he sort of gets his explanation – a tall pillar of smoke shoots heavenward, originating from the island. 

“Would you look at that,” Dean drawls, suddenly next to Sam. 

“Whatever’s going on is starting there.”

“Hold on tight, brother.” That’s the only warning Dean gives him before zapping them across the river and onto the small piece of land. 

They move in unison, no need to coordinate or exchange coded gestures – they’ve been playing this game long enough to know how to proceed. 

The forest is eerily silent, as if all wildlife had left… which makes catching the cracking wood behind them all the easier to hear. Sam whirls around, Ruby’s knife raised and ready to strike. Someone attacks him, causing him to fall but Sam rolls over his back and is on his feet again in time to bury the knife inside his attacker’s body. Demon, definitely, since the knife slays him and the man’s lifeless body slumps to the dirty ground. 

Sam looks up to see Dean has brought a similar fate to all three of his own attackers. 

“We’re definitely in the right place,” Sam whispers, following his brother’s lead deeper into the woods.

*

It’s Sam who spots the hatch in the ground. Dean kicks it open with that blunt force he’s grown so fond of and jumps inside, Sam close behind him, taking the steps of the ladder two at a time until Dean gets bored without him and zaps him the rest of the way down. 

“I can climb down a ladder, you know,” he grumbles, which merely elicits a grunt from his brother as they make their way down the only path available.

“Huh,” Dean comments after they lit their flashlights. “I was expecting something more sci-fi, or maybe like that bunker in Lost, you know, less caveman chic.”

“This has to be ancient,” Sam whispers in awe. They landed in a tunnel system, clearly dug by hand, Stone Age style paintings adorning the walls. Upon closer inspection, all drawings are incredibly bloody, though. 

They follow the tunnels, bodies tense and ready to strike down every demon that comes their way, yet nothing happens until they reach a clearly Modern Age door with sigils that Sam identifies as anti-angel warding. 

“Someone wanted to be left alone.”

“Good thing we ain’t angels, then,” Dean says before he kicks the door down, his foot leaving a dent in the metal before it bursts open. 

Sam expected a fight to the death, maybe some dark magic or other demonic rituals. What they find instead is a room full of dead bodied. Five dead bodies, to be exact. 

“What the hell,” Dean breathes out and Sam lowers his weapon. 

Of course that’s when a survivor attacks him. 

There’s a sharp pain in his back like he’s been kicked before he stumbles forward, trying to hold his balance. To his left he hears a sharp hiss of pain that can only mean one thing – someone’s using holy water or holy fire on his brother. The thought spirals Sam into action and he whirls around, aiming a roundhouse kick at where he thinks his attacker is standing only to have the figure duck and hit him in the chest with a side kick in return while throwing something in Dean’s direction, prompting another hiss. 

Sam lunges forward and closes his arms around the woman’s chest – for it is a woman, maybe 5’6’’ or 5’7’’ and lean enough that Sam should be able to propel them both to the floor and pin her to the ground with his weight and height alone. 

No such luck, though. 

She remains decidedly upright, twisting in his grip until apparently she decides she had enough and brings her legs up, which is the last thing Sam sees before those legs close around his head and the woman throws him down to the ground and onto his back. 

The force of impact and the surprise at being taken down by a woman half his size knocks the air right out of his lungs and before he can gather his bearings, he is staring at the barrel of a gun. 

“If you move I won’t hesitate to pull that trigger,” warns the woman holding it. 

Dean stills and for the first time, Sam can take a closer look at the person who took him down. She’s wearing sturdy boots and loose pants with a belt holding an arsenal of weapons. Her shirt and jacket look like they’re half armor and her black, wavy hair is tied into a loose bun, but several strands have come loose. She makes quite the picture, and Sam would appreciate the sight if he weren’t too busy catching his breath. 

“You killed the demons?” he ventures, wondering when it might be safe to sit up again. Dean’s skin is red and irritated from where Sam thinks the holy water hit, but it’s already healing. 

“Yes.”

“Do you know who we are?”

“Originally I thought you’re two of the bad guys but you’re human, aren’t you?” She looks down on him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What gave it away?” Sam scoffs, holding up both hands as he pulls his torso up slowly. 

She grins. “So you’re the Winchesters?”

“How do you know?” Dean growls, his skin completely fine again but his eyes are still black and judging from the set of his jaw, he’s incredibly pissed off. 

“My Dad was a hunter, too. Pastor Kahr. He coordinated cases on the east coast.”

“ _Was_?” Sam wonders out loud and watches the woman’s dark blue eyes grow cold as ice. 

“He was killed a few weeks ago, along with my brother. A demon stole something, something important, and I’ve been chasing after it ever since.”

“Is that what led you here?”

“Yeah. And once again, I’ve come too late. But I heard you’re in Kansas, so I hoped I’d find you here, even if I’m too late to stop it.”

“Stop what?” Sam is starting to feel like he’s missing something. 

The woman blinks, obviously taken aback. “You mean you really don’t know? You’ve got to be kidding me!” She groans, pressing the palm of her hand still holding the gun against her forehead. 

Sam climbs to his feet, exchanging a look with Dean. “What’re you talking about?” 

She swallows, squaring her shoulders. “I’m talking about 47 broken seals. I’m talking about the damn apocalypse!”

Sam’s blood runs cold instantly. 

*

The way the brothers react is almost comical.

“What d’you mean, ‘the apocalypse’?” the one with the black eyes – Dean – protests. “We’ve averted that one already!” 

“Are you sure?” Sam asks, but he has gone pale, so he can’t doubt her too much. 

“Yes,” Ales snaps nonetheless. “And I’ll explain everything, but not here. The less risk of anyone overhearing this, the better. Take me to the Men of Letters bunker.”

The tall one stares at her. “How do you know about that?”

“My father’s a knowledgeable man.”

She leaves it at that and turns towards the exit, yet the younger Winchester’s voice holds her back. “Wait, but what about the earthquake?”

“Too late. They completed the ritual. The sun’ll already have gone dark, and the moon’ll be red.”

“That’s a seal?”

“Revelation six-twelve names it as the sixth, but we all know it’s only the first and last seal that’s fixed,” she calls over her shoulder, already on her way out of the base, back through the tunnel and up to the hatch. When she reaches the surface, the Winchesters are already waiting, and Dean is looking decidedly smug. His eyes aren’t black anymore but a vibrant green that Alex would consider beautiful if she didn’t know what monster lies beneath. 

“Want a ride back to our HQ?” Dean sneers and she has half a mind to decline but in the end, it’s just more practical. 

Alright, scratch that – it’s weird. One second they are on a river island in the middle of the Mississippi, the next the three of them are standing in front of door. It’s more than a bit disorienting, but Alex catches her balance soon enough. 

She blows out a shallow breath when she follows Sam down the staircase into the large room, taking in the map table and the few other rooms she can see from her point of view. “Impressive.” 

Before either Winchester can say anything, an Asian boy appears in the doorway just at the same moment when Dean blinks out of existence. Living with him must be annoying, Alex figures. 

“Sam, Dean, what’s going on? Who’s this?” the boy asks, prompting Sam to turn towards her. He probably realizes for the first time that she never gave them her name. Time to remedy that, then. 

“Alexandra Kahr. And you are?”

“Kevin,” is all he says. He seems equipped with the paranoia of a hunter but nothing about his stance and the way he holds himself suggests any kind of prolonged training. He’s not much younger than Alex, so he should have some skills, even if he didn’t grow up with hunters. 

“Who’s he, your secretary?”

“Uh, not quite,” Sam evades her question, not even meeting her eyes. 

Dean reappears next to them, bringing a small hint of sulfur with him that turns Alex’ stomach. He’s pocketing his cell phone, looking grim. 

“Called Cas but it went straight to voicemail. Probably still hunting down the Megadouche.”

“Why?” Kevin interrupts, a slight quiver in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“The apocalypse,” Alex tells him, but doesn’t expect the intense physical reaction her statement invokes. The guy flinches back, his eyes widening in what Alex is pretty sure is fear. 

“She’s joking, right? Right? Sam? Dean?”

“The lady didn’t wanna talk in Missouri, so we brought her here,” Dean pitches in, “so we know nothing more that that. Now spill, girl.”

Alex can feel three pairs of eyes on her and takes a deep breath. _You wanted this_ , she has to remind herself. _You sought out the Winchesters._

“My father knew about monsters; he was a hunter, but first and foremost he was a pastor in Richmond. His family has been protecting the church there for centuries because the crypts below are holding one of the most important documents in the history of creation.”

Suddenly, realization dawns on Sam’s face. “I think I read something about that once - The Book of Seals?” 

“Gold star for the giant,” Alex snaps before she can stop herself. It’s strange how fast being a pastor’s daughter can evaporate after just a few weeks on the road. “A couple of weeks ago when I came back from a run,” she has to pause to swallow around the lump in her throat as unbidden images flash before her eyes even though she is trying her best not to think about them, “a demon was in our house. She’d killed my father and was attacking my brother… I couldn’t… I tried but… She killed him and took the book before I could stop her.”

“And what exactly is that book supposed to be?” Dean asks and when Alex meets his eyes, there’s no empathy in them, as if it doesn’t matter that two people lost their lives. The rumors are truer than Alex suspected, then. 

“It’s the only known list of all 600 seals in existence. There’s only one reason to steal it, and that’s because someone wants to free Lucifer from Hell and bring on the apocalypse, for real this time.”

“But that’s impossible!” Sam protest, like Alex knew he would. “Lilith is dead!”

“And I ain’t the Righteous Man anymore, princess. So unless the rules have changed since the last time some wacko tried to jailbreak the devil, we got nothing to worry about.”

A hot ball of rage unfolds in Alex’ stomach, making her hand jerk towards the holy water bombs she still has left as she steps towards the other man. 

“Listen to me, pretty boy,” she growls, and all Dean does is raise an eyebrow, which only fuels her rage. “Are you really dumb enough to believe that _you, you_ of all people, are the only righteous man there is? There are dozens of candidates at any point in time and all those bastards need have done is find one and make sure he picks up a knife of his own in the pit and from what I’ve heard, thanks to a certain new employee, there’s a hell of a lot more souls breaking a hell of a lot more easily lately.”

Dean’s eyes turn black immediately and Alex can feel the tingling sensation that comes with being the target of biokinetic powers but before the Winchester can do any serious harm, his brother’s there, pushing him back with a placating hand on his chest. 

“Easy there, no need to start anything, alright?”

It takes a few moments but then Dean’s eyes are back to their natural green and Alex feels the tingling recede. She doesn’t twitch. She won’t give Dean that satisfaction. 

It’s the Kevin guy who coughs and draws all their attention. “So they stole the book and now have a blueprint of what they need to do. That doesn’t change the fact that Lilith is dead. They need her, right?” His voice trembles slightly, but he barges on. “Or is there an alternative last seal?”

Alex shakes her head. “No. It’s Lilith or nothing.”

“Then we’re in the clear, what’s the big deal,” Dean declares, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“And when has death ever stopped anyone from anything? I heard the rumors, I know you’ve been to purgatory, both of you, and I know that there’s still a few rogue Reapers out there. If they need Lilith, they’ll find a way to get her.”

“But what I don’t get,” Sam cuts in, “is who they are? I mean sure there’s easier ways to get rid of Crowley, aren’t there? What’s their interest in all this, ‘cause I’m sure it’s not the angels doing this.”

“It’s not about a simple regime change,” Alex argues, “it’s about freeing Lucifer. As far as I know quite a few demons are still loyal to him. And with… well.” 

“What?” Sam asks when Alex doesn’t go on.

“My theory is that they decided to strike again now because they think one Winchester is out of the picture.”

That, of course, doesn’t sit well with Dean. “The hell I am! What, they thought just ‘cause I got a few extra powers that I’ll stop fighting the good fight?”

Alex shrugs. “You are a Knight of Hell, aren’t you? From what I’ve heard, you’re even training a group of others.”

“Who told you that?”

“I have my ways.”

Their eyes lock and Alex holds the man’s gaze, set on not looking away first. 

This time it’s Sam who breaks the silence. “Alright. So whoever they are, they know about Dean’s, uh, condition, and probably knew it before word got out on the street. They decided to start the process, but they needed the book because the only one who really knew about all the seals was Lilith and she’s still dead. You said you’ve been chasing them?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been quick enough to get a look at them, except for the woman who stole the book in the first place. When I realized I’d never catch them on my own, I started asking around where I could find you,” she looks from Sam to Dean, “since you started and stopped it the last time.” Alex sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I came to ask for your help.”

“And you heard we’re in Kansas?”

“Somewhere no one can find unless they know where it is. I was on my way when I passed by New Madrid and decided to check it out because the earthquake seal wasn’t broken yet. It hit while I was there, but all the demons there were just lackeys; they didn’t know anything. I thought you two might show, so I hung around.”

Sam’s hand comes up to rub the back of his head and Alex feels a small sense of pride at the thought that she gave this wall of muscle a bump. 

“Does that mean you have a plan?” Kevin asks, forehead lined with worry. “I mean, a plan would be good.”

“I’ve studied the book for years, so I know what seals exist and I’ve been able to guess where they’ll strike next, but unless we find out who’s behind this, I’ve got nothing except ‘stop the seals from breaking’ and as far as I know, that hasn’t worked so well the last time.”

“No,” Sam agrees, “but with the Men of Letters equipment and with more manpower, we’ve got a better chance than you had on your own.”

“You got any idea what the next seal’s gonna be?” 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the news,” Alex explains as she digs around her pockets for her phone and pulls up the picture folder. “And this caught my eye.”

She holds it out to them as the three men step closer to take a look at the newspaper article she photographed the day before. 

“A few researchers and treasure hunters are digging for gold in the Euphrates. It’s also one of the seals that corresponds to a sign of the apocalypse in Islamic culture.”

Kevin blinks at the article. “Why would that be a seal? They’re just digging for gold.” 

“A corporation bought a large area of land to build a resort and while preparing the ground, they rerouted the river slightly… Apparently a piece of the gold buried somewhere near that construction site surfaced and was washed down, then found and traced back to where it came from. It is written that when the Euphrates changes direction, it will reveal gold and that a lot of people with die fighting over it.” 

“So we’ll go there, gank the demons before they can find the treasure and stop that seal,” Dean suggests and unfortunately it’s the best plan they have. 

Alex nods grimly. “Let’s go, then.”

*

“Yeah, Marv was here, but you just missed him!”

Castiel watches how Gabriel’s jaw tightens and his vessel’s body tenses. “Did he by any chance mention where he was going next? It’s of paramount importance that we speak to him.”

“Sorry, can’t help you there.”

“Thank you for the information,” Castiel says, for his brother is coming threateningly close to loosing his tempter. Their witness smiles and waves them off as Castiel ushers the archangel across the baseball field where Metatron just cured a terminally ill player who’s been giving money to great causes all his life. 

“We never catch a break!” Gabriel shouts, kicking at the grass repeatedly. “How can he always be gone? Are we just that unlucky?!” 

“We need to be patient, Gabriel-“

“Patient! Patient!”

“Stop acting like a child, brother,” Castiel tries, aiming for a soothing tone but if he is honest, he doesn’t even think himself that they will find Metatron any time soon. 

Castiel remembers to check his phone when Gabriel has finally cooled down enough that they can make their way back to find Hannah and Kemuel yet when he retrieves it, he discovers it is out of battery. 

“Damn it.” The curse is out there before he can decide to voice it. Predictably, his outburst earns him Gabriel’s mirth. 

“What is it, Cassie? Did lover boy cancel for tonight ‘cause he’s too busy kicking ass and taking names down in the pit?”

“My battery is dead,” Castiel explains, opting to ignore Gabriel’s jib. 

“The trouble of modern life, brother. A few centuries back humans would complain about the fire wood running out…”

“I’m glad my suffering amuses you.”

“Well, I’ve got little to laugh about right now, Cassie.”

“Gabriel!” 

They both turn around to where the voice is coming from. Hashmal is running towards them, waving his phone excitedly. 

“I think I know where Metatron will be going next!”

“What? Where?”

“Someone from San Francisco tweeted that their son, a fireman, was severely burnt while trying to rescue drug addicts from a burning building. They burns aren’t healing as expected and now the man might die. It’s perfect, I’m sure Metatron would think healing this man would bring him good publicity.”

Castiel exchanges a quick glance with Gabriel, noting that his brother’s eyes are sparkling. 

“Awesome! Where are they exactly?”

“Right at the Presidio. W Pacific Avenue.”

“I want all garrisons there, in position, ready for battle in five minutes.” A pause. No one moves. “Go, go, go!” 

Hashmal takes off running while Castiel seeks out Hannah and Kemuel and then gathers his own garrison. It does take a little more than five minutes, but as soon as possible without wings of their own, the Heavenly Host has gathered in San Francisco.

Castiel spies Gabriel staring at a light blue house whose garden is separated from the Presidio by a concrete wall that is covered in ivy. When he hears Castiel approach, the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. 

“He’s in here. We got him.”

*

Alex keeps half an eye on Dean Winchester once they have found the archeological site, primarily because the man already has his blade out. The sight sends a shiver down her spine when she realizes the weapon has been around since the dawn of time and brought nothing but chaos and destruction upon those on the other end. 

She thinks she can even make out the faint glow of the Mark underneath the layers of clothing, but it’s probably just her imagination since there is no way the Mark can permeate the thick leather jacket Dean is wearing. 

It’s still early morning in Iran, too early for anyone to be at the excavation site yet there they are, about ten people bustling around inside a large tent near the river. All Alex can see is their shadows against the tent walls when a figure passes in front of a bright lamp. 

“Human or not?” Sam whispers. 

“Demons.” Dean’s tone is sure – of course, he can see their true forms, Alex remembers quickly. 

“Can you tell if they’ve found any gold yet?”

A pause, then Dean is shaking his head. “They ain’t happy enough for that.”

“We need a plan of action,” Alex suggests and to her surprise it’s Dean who answers first - 

“I got a plan: action.”

\- seconds before he zaps away. Well. 

By the time Sam and Alex push back the curtain that doubles as a door, one body is already lying in a pool of her own blood and everyone else has been thrown against the walls and is being held there by an invisible hand while Dean has his blade against one archeologist’s throat. 

“Is he always like that? Stab first, ask questions later?”

“Not always,” Sam deflects, but his tone is defensive and Alex doesn’t really believe him. 

“Who’re you working for?” Dean is asking the dark-skinned man. “Come on, I know you ain’t human. And I know you ain’t working for Crowley. So who’s your master, huh?”

“You call Crowley your master, too?” the captive sneers. Alex could have told him that it would be the wrong move. 

The only warning the man receives is the smirk Dean sends his way, then the blade presses forward and blood spills from the demon’s throat. When he crumbles on the floor, Dean doesn’t even bother wiping the blade. 

“Anyone willing to sing?” None of the others says anything. “No takers? I was hoping for that.”

Mere seconds later, two more demons fall at the hand of Dean’s blade and another one ends up bent over the table, Dean’s hand in his hair, hissing in pain as the Knight presses his cheek against the wood. 

“You got something to say?”

The man says something in Arabic, but Alex doesn’t need to know the language to tell it’s nothing nice. Dean seems to come to the same conclusion and he buries the first blade in the man’s spine, twisting it until the tent fills with his screams before his last breath leaves him. 

“I think it’s time to get a little creative with my questions, what d’you say?” Dean wonders with a smile. 

Alex doubts Dean noticed how his eyes turned black. 

*

“Gabriel, this plan is flawed.” 

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Well, we could wait until he is outside –“

“He’ll fly off right away, if there’s a human present, he might not dare.”

“Gabriel –“

But his protests fall on deaf ears. The archangel rings the doorbell and Castiel resigns himself to his fate. 

An elderly woman, probably the fireman’s mother, opens. “Can I help you?”

“Hello Mrs, we’re friends of Marv’s,” Gabriel introduces himself. “He asked us to pick him up. We’re from the city, and glad to help where we can.”

“Oh, come in, he’s still with Mason, but he said he’ll be finished soon.”

So Castiel and Gabriel take a seat in the lady’s living room and let her serve them tea until footsteps echo outside the living room and the woman gasps. Castiel looks up in time to see a tall, black man pull her into a hug. 

Apparently Metatron healed him of his injuries and even the burns that are visible don’t seem so severe anymore. Castiel’s pulse spikes as he glimpses Metatron himself, the subject of their search, behind the mother and son. It is with great satisfaction that Castiel watches the angel’s face fall when he catches sight of them in return. 

“Oh, Marv, your friends are here to pick you up. I’m sure you’re a busy man, but if you ever need anything, just let us know,” the woman tells him, kissing Metatron’s cheek. 

“It is very nice of you, but you really needn’t have come,” Metatron tells them icily. His look turns into a glare when Gabriel clasps his shoulder in a friendly pat. 

“Not at all, everything for our Marv! We haven’t seen you in ages!”

They are all fake smiles and cheerful goodbyes until the door closes behind them. Gabriel maintains his grip on Metatron’s shoulder and Castiel can feel the power emanating from the archangel. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Metatron,” Gabriel growls as soon as they are behind the building and facing the Presidio again. Castiel can see their troops, posed for any escape attempt Metatron is undoubtedly going to mount. 

“You’re gonna follow us without protesting and then we’re gonna take your grace, reverse the spell and in return, let you live.”

Upon hearing that, the former god barks out a laugh. “Sure, then we’ll meet once a week for tea while you tell me how you screw up this time. No, no, I don’t think so!”

Castiel is ready, has seen it coming a mile off – Metatron yanks his shoulder out of Gabriel’s grip, pushing Gabriel back with a bout of angelic energy. Castiel lets his angel blade fall out of his sleeve immediately and lunges at the angel, only to have Metatron push him to the side. Castiel manages to deflect, but his grace is wearing thin and it might have been enough to block the attack, but he has no illusions as to how he still is no match for Metatron. 

“You should have killed me when you had the chance, Castiel,” the angel jeers and shifts his stance, obviously split seconds away from flying off. 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Gabriel shouts and catches Metatron mid takeoff. 

Castiel jumps onto his feet again. It is going to be a hard fight. 

*

Alex feels like she is watching a natural catastrophe in slow motion, her stomach twisting with nausea while she can’t tear her eyes away from Dean as he peels the ninth demon’s skin off with the first blade, wielding it with almost surgical precision. 

She has seen a lot of gruesome things in her twenty-two years as a daughter to Patrick Kahr, has witnessed exorcisms, hauntings gone violent, vampires, wendigos, werewolf attacks… yet never anything quite like a Knight of Hell torturing fellow demons. 

Neither Sam nor she is objecting, however. They both know they need to get the upper hand, find out as much as possible about whoever is running this apocalyptic show, but so far none of Dean’s victims have talked or given them anything useful at all. 

Apart from the woman suffering at Dean’s hands, only the group’s leader is still alive, watching everything from his position up against the tent wall where Dean still has him pinned. The demon tries to hide it, yet the violence is getting to him – a flinch here, a grimace there, and now he is squeezing his eyes shut as Dean splits the woman’s head in half, grey matter spilling over the sandy ground. 

No matter how much gold the archeologists are hoping to find, Alex is pretty sure they’ll high tail out of here as soon as they find the bloody crime scene Dean is filling with bodies. 

“Now’s your chance, boy-o.” Dean’s voice is calm, almost bored, as he approaches the last demon. “Tell me something and I might let you life.”

“You’re going to kill me anyway, Dean Winchester,” the man snarls, his slight accent making his tone a bit more threatening as usual. “Why give you the satisfaction of telling you one word that could be useful?”

“We got ourselves a smart one here, don’t we? So what’s your price?”

“The Morningstar will reward me when he walks the earth again,” he announces, his eyes darting across the tent towards Sam. “You will, won’t you?”

Next to Alex, Sam growls, tension suddenly spilling over and he has closed the space with three long strides. “Lucifer won’t get me, and he’s not going to reward anyone. All he’ll bring is chaos and mayhem.”

“What you call ‘mayhem’ I call the natural order.”

“Listen, you little bitch,” Dean butts in again, “if you don’t talk, I’ll drop you a visit in Purgatory myself and make sure you’ll never be able to close your eyes in peace again down there. Now come on and spill.”

“I will never tell you anything. You might just kill me now.”

Alex swallows as she watches a vein in Dean’s temple pulse. 

“Well then, as you wish.”

The demon cries out in pain and blood starts oozing out of the deep gash in his chest. Dean continues like this, his blade leaving wounds behind whose outpour soaks the man’s clothes. A few drops hit the ground, mixing with the sand. 

Five minutes later, the demon has no blood left in his body, pain twisting his features but he cannot cry anymore since Dean has cut his vocal chords. 

“Isn’t that enough?” Alex ventures. “I mean, he can’t say anything anyway, so why prolong it?”

She receives a glare in return while Sam avers his eyes, looking decidedly uncomfortable with her comment. 

“Just kill him already, the regular crew will probably be back any minute now and I really don’t want to land on Interpol’s most wanted list, alright?”

Another glare; but the next thing Alex knows, Dean has buried his weapon deep inside the demon’s chest. 

“Satisfied?” he sneers, wiping the blade off on the shirt of another female corpse because it is one of the few that hasn’t been painted crimson. 

Alex doesn’t dignify that with a response. 

“Alright, let’s get the fuck outta dodge.” With that, Dean grabs both Sam and Alex by their shoulders and teleports them back to Kansas. 

*

Castiel does his best to keep up with Gabriel and Metatron, who aren’t holding back in the least even though they are in the middle of a highly populated area. He faintly wonders what explanation the government will spin for two celestial beings having it out in San Francisco’s Presidio in the middle of the day, yet cannot dwell on it. He is far too occupied with coordinating his troops since of course Metatron’s supporters have caught up with recent developments and have drawn their angel blades. 

Castiel himself is engaged with a tall, Hispanic fellow who he believes is called Zadkiel and fled prosecution after Metatron’s rule ended. He is a good warrior and Castiel will be sad to see him spend the rest of time in Heaven’s prison, yet they cannot risk leaving a potential traitor in their midst. 

“You’re getting slow, Castiel,” Zadkiel taunts him, shooting another jet of angelic energy his way that Castiel sidesteps in order to save what little is left of the stolen grace. 

He can feel the remnants of it evaporating quickly and the thought that he might not be able to return to Heaven in the aftermath of today’s altercation makes him fight with renewed vigor in order to end it more quickly. 

His chance comes when Zadkiel miscalculates and looses his balance after aiming to stab Castiel in the heart with his blade only to have Castiel avoid the fatal blow. He moves without hesitation, brings his own weapon up and rams it into Zadkiel’s chin. The vessel smokes out too quickly for Castiel to salvage any of Zadkiel’s grace. 

“You are loosing a step or two, Castiel.”

He whirls around and finds himself face-to-face with Metatron. His eyes dart around, hoping to catch sight of Gabriel – he wouldn’t leave the angel out of his sight unless…

“Oh yes, your dear friend is currently exploring the depth of San Francisco Bay. I do hope he can swim.”

Castiel tighten the grip around his angel blade. “Surrender now, Metatron, or I will cut you down.”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” Metatron coos, throwing his hands up in mock-terror before his expression sobers up. “About as scared I was of your puny little human. Though he’s not so human anymore, is he? I’m not surprised you’re still loyal to him, but my followers were quite vocal in their criticism. Complained that Gabriel knew and didn’t do anything.”

“Leave Dean out of this,” Castiel growls, feeling what he has come to know as anger ignite in the pit of his stomach. 

“Or what? What will you do, oh mighty Castiel?”

“End you like I should have done months ago.”

“Having relations with a demon really gave you some bite, I must say!” Castiel tries to keep his face blank but some of the surprise must have shown on his face, for Metatron’s grin widens. “Oh, so I am right? I always figured you two would dance the vertical tango, to use one of the less graphic metaphors that present themselves, but now that the hunter has turned into the very thing he used to hunt, I was not as sure anymore. But my, my, Castiel, aren’t you a dirty little angel?”

“Enough!” Castiel bellows, lunging forward but Metatron deflects without major difficulty. 

This tells him one thing, at least: Metatron might still be powerful, but somehow he cannot use his wings anymore or he would have just now. 

“Look at the life in you! The spite! Love suits you, Castiel. Too bad you won’t be reunited with your darling after I kill you. There is no way from Heaven to purgatory, my friend.”

“I am not your friend.”

“Excuse the figure of speech.”

“Better yet: Shut up entirely,” Castiel snaps, passing his blade from one hand to the other. 

“You mean we should just get this showdown over with? As you wish. I shall enjoy killing you.”

And so it begins. 

Castiel manages to hold his ground for a long time, considering the power difference between him and his opponent, yet soon he realizes that his grace will run out before the fight is over and he has no idea how long – if at all – he will hold up against an angel at half-power in his human form. 

Also, for an angel whose vessel is a bit on the heavier side, Metatron is incredibly agile and fast. Castiel tried to get the better of him through hand-to-hand combat when they both lost their blades for a moment, but no such luck. 

Their blades are back in their hands now, metallic sounds filling the air when they crash together. 

A battle cry sounds to their right and they turn to see Hashmal storm at them, blade raised yet Metatron merely stretches out his hand and pushes the angel back, sending him flying through the air until he crashes into the ground. 

“Tsk, tsk, how stupid your minions are, Castiel,” he mocks, but that moment of reprieve is enough for Castiel to gather all his strength and lunge at Metatron, sending them both to the ground. 

Castiel rolls off and instinctively raises a shield to protect him from Metatron’s next bout of energy, which comes, is absorbed by the shield and – 

He gasps for breath, a brief flash of pain coursing through his body and leaving him empty. 

One moment later, Castiel is lying on his back in the grass, Metatron kneeling over him, keeping him there with a knee on his stomach. 

“You were a worthy opponent,” Metatron sneers. “Well. Almost.”

Then he raises his angel blade over his head and Castiel knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that this is it, this is the end and he tries to remember the last thing he said to Dean and how he will never see the hunter again. 

A sudden scream tears him out of his thoughts and draws his eyes to the angel blade in Metatron’s hand – it is glowing, burning hot apparently, if the smell of charred skin is any indication. Castiel’s eyes widen as he seizes the chance and sits up, wrestles the blade out of Metatron’s grip and flips them over, holding the surprisingly cool weapon against the angel’s throat. 

“Game over, douchebag,” Castiel growls, just as he notices Gabriel in the corner of his eye. 

It is done. They have Metatron. They can re-open Heaven. 

And Castiel won’t be able to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wohoooooo, I loved this chapter! I hope you did, too :)
> 
> Hopefully I’ll be able to update soon, especially since I’m going to London on the 22nd and won’t have time to write. (I’m going to see Martin Freeman as Richard III, how rad is that?!)


	14. Episode 13 - Tipping the scale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for Kevin to put together the spell and re-open heaven. Meanwhile, Dean explains the approaching apocalypse to his boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that I didn’t finish this before I went on holiday. I had so much to do and when I was in London, I had no moment of peace to write. Got a lot of inspiration, though :) 
> 
> May the length of this chapter and its content make up for the wait!

_Don't get too close_  
 _It's dark inside_  
 _It's where my demons hide_  
 _It's where my demons hide_

_\- Demons, Imagine Dragons_

*

Gabriel shakes out his wings, ruffling his feathers. The water of the San Francisco Bay may not have reached his celestial plane of existence, but that doesn’t mean he can’t suffer from phantom wetness. 

Stupid angel. That Metatron is gonna get what’s coming to him, and nothing will be able to stop Gabriel now. 

He doesn’t expect to find the object of his fury towering over Castiel, poised to deliver the killing blow. Gabriel flexes his wings even though he knows he’ll never make it in time… which is when the blade in Metatron’s hand starts to glow, a bright light erupting from it on a ethereal level and blinding Gabriel for a second before it recedes. 

The tables have turned – now it is Cassie who has Metatron pinned to the ground. 

What the -?

“Game over, douchebag.”

“You’ve definitely spent too much time with the Winchesters if you’ve taken on their habit of cheesy one-liners in high-tension moments,” Gabriel teases, hiding his astonishment and relishing the fact that Metatron has gone pale as a ghost. 

Castiel’s mouth twitches and he gives Gabriel a rare smile. Oh boy, he even took that as a compliment. That angel is so gone. 

Shaking his head Gabriel grips both Castiel’s and Metatron’s shoulder and teleports them back upstairs where they book their wayward prisoner into a new cell. Gabriel is certain to secure the door as many times as he can and makes a note to handpick future guards. 

“Sit tight there, Metatron; we’ll be back to get your grace in a bit.”

“You can’t do that! You have no right to take away the essence of my celestial being!” the man shouts, hands wrapped around the bars so tight his knuckles have gone white. 

“Watch me,” Gabriel snaps back, in absolutely no mood to deal with Metatron’s rambling. He has bigger things on his mind. “Cassie,” he starts slowly, taking in his brother’s appearance. He hasn’t changed outwardly, yet on an ethereal plane, Gabriel sees the difference. 

“I know, Gabriel. I will be taking my leave soon. I have no place amongst my brethren, now that I am human.”

“Woah, hang on a minute! That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“No?”

“I meant the thing, back there.”

“The thing?”

“Yeah, you know.” He throws in an eyebrow wriggle for good measure. Surely Cassie will catch on soon enough. 

Or not. Well. The other man tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “I do not know what you are referring to.”

“Come on, Cassie, you can’t tell me you don’t know what just happened!”

Understanding dawns – finally! “Oh, yes, I’m sorry… Thank you for saving my life. I don’t know how I can sufficiently express my gratitude, dear brother.”

“Woah, woah, wait – thank _me_? I had nothing to do with it.” Damn, has Castiel really fucked away all his brain cells? 

His brother’s blue eyes widen. “But if it wasn’t you – who saved me?”

“Huh, good question,” Gabriel drawls. “Maybe the same guy who resurrected you once already?”

Castiel swallows as shock takes over his features. Gabriel scoffs mentally. Seriously, how can this angel be their Father’s favorite? ‘cause him being His favorite is the only explanation Gabriel can come up with for their absent Dad to take action despite his hiatus. 

“Are you saying… that God saved my life?”

“Duh. Who else has this kind of juice?”

“But – why?”

“Dude, I got no clue why he’s keeping your annoying ass around. Ask Him the next time you get the chance.” 

Castiel doesn’t reply. Maybe Gabriel broke his brain for good. Ah, well… Hopefully demon boy won’t mind. 

“Come on, Cassie, hold on tight, we gotta get ourselves a prophet and then we’ll reopen Heaven for good.”

“You want me to come?”

“Of course, Cassie. The angels listen to you. And hey, the deal was we’re talking about this whole leader thing after we reversed the stunt Metatron pulled and I’m gonna hold you to that, grace or not.” 

Castiel blinks at him in surprise. Gabriel sighs. Honestly, he has no idea why the rest of their Bible Club are willing to follow Cassie anywhere… 

*

*

His head is swimming, thoughts flowing into one another but without any coherence to it. Dean blinks, once, twice, tries to shake his head to chase away the mushy feeling. 

He’s in the bunker. In the bathroom. How the hell did he get there? What just happened?

Loosing time ain’t never good, that’s something Dean has learnt in the past decades. That it happens now can’t mean anything good, especially seeing as he’s covered in blood; it’s painting his skin crimson and makes his shirt cling to his chest uncomfortably. 

Dean stares at his reflection in the mirror, the green of his irises darker than usual. 

“Dean, hurry up!” Sam calls from the hallway outside. 

It spurs him into action, opening the faucet and taking his clothes off. He uses his powers to clean away the blood while he wrecks his brain to remember what he did before he got here. 

Demons. Screams. Gold in the Euphrates. Blood on sandy ground. 

It comes back slowly as he splays ice cold water into his face. Not everything, not details, but the general gist. It freaks him out less than it probably should that he’s loosing time when he’s in full on Knight-of-Hell mode. And that should tell him something, shouldn’t it? 

But he can’t be bothered. He knows he should, but he ain’t got it in him to care. It’s the apocalypse, so a small case of amnesia? Pretty much child’s play. 

Once he’s clean, he zaps into his room for a change of clothes, then into the main area where Sam’s in discussion with Kevin, who’s carrying a stack of notes. 

“It came to me!” he exclaims as soon as he sees Dean. “I have the spell. That means that they caught Metatron, right?”

“Maybe.”

Speak of the devil – or in this case archangel – Sammy’s phone starts ringing before anyone can say anything else. 

“Gabriel?” Sam listens to whatever the guy on the other end is telling him, then his face splits into a blinding smile. “Yeah, Kevin’s got the spell, he’s ready, just come on down, we’ll let you in.”

“They got the douchebag?” Dean guesses as soon as Sam hit the end call button. 

“Yeah, seems like we finally catch a break.”

“What’s the deal with this Metatron?” Alex interrupts and it takes Dean a second to remember why the girl’s here, but by then his brother is already explaining about how Metatron made the angels fall. 

_Cas._ Gabe will bring Cas along, Dean realizes, and damn, it’s been a while. Well, not that long, but the thought of the angel alone speeds up Dean’s pulse and makes his mouth go dry. 

So he’s the one who zaps to the door when he hears Sam’s phone _ding_ with a text alert, he’s the one to let them inside and zap them down, and only then does he take a closer look at Cas. 

“Fuck, dude!” Dean’s staring. Where he used to see Cas’ real form, no mater how much it was shrinking and loosing its intensity, it’s nothing compared to the soul he sees now when he turns his gaze inward. It’s still Cas, still beautiful and shining white light, but he’s human, smaller and more delicate. Dean could break him with a thought. 

“What?” Sam asks immediately, his tone alarmed. 

“My grace was depleted during my fight with Metatron. I have become human.”

“But you’re going to reverse the spell, right?” Sam wonders, pushing on before anyone has the chance to talk over him. “You said it could restore his grace?”

All eyes turn to Kevin, whose expression turns apologetic. “I’m not sure. Maybe. We’ll have to see.”

“Then let’s get cracking!” Gabriel announces, moving to grip the prophet’s shoulder. 

“Nope, we gotta tell you something first,” Dean stops him, grinning at his brother. “You guys tell him, I’ll talk to Cas.”

With that he grabs his now very human angel and zaps them to his room. 

*

Sam stares after his brother. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he hollers after them, but he’s under no illusion that they’ll hear him all the way back in Dean’s room where they undoubtedly are. And yeah, Sam doesn’t need that mental picture. 

“Did your brother just hit pause on saving Heaven for a quickie with lover boy?”

Sam watches as Alex’ eyebrows draw up at Gabriel’s words. “I’ll explain later,” he promises with a sigh. 

“Wait, who’s this lovely young lady?” 

Well, at least Gabriel noticed her now. Alex extends her hand, which Gabriel kisses, winking at her. Alex looks deeply unimpressed, making Sam chuckle. 

“That’s Alexander Kahr, and we’ve got a slight problem.”

“A _slight problem_?” Kevin’s eyes dart from him to the other two. “You’re actually calling the apocalypse a ‘slight problem’?!”

“Woah, woah, woah, back up, rewind, stop moving – what?!”

So Sam gives Gabriel the cliff notes of what Alex told him, and sums up their half-success of stopping one seal from being broken, yet their failure at gathering any evidence as to who might be behind it. 

“Holy crap on a cracker, we never catch a break, do we?” Gabriel curses as he starts to pace. “How many seals did you say were already broken?”

“47. Maybe 48 since yesterday; I doubt that team we took out was the only one,” Alex answers, seeming a little bewildered by the angel’s demeanor. 

“So less than twenty to go… but they need Lilith, right? Damn. Of course this’d happen when we’ve lost track of practically half the Reapers, and there’s no freackin’ way we’ll get them all back before they’ll blow through the last few seals…”

Gabriel runs a hand across his face and through his hair, groaning in frustration. 

“Alright, listen up, battle plan. We’re gonna fly the prophet upstairs and open those damn doors again while you,” he points at Alex, “are gonna make a list of the seals they’re most likely gonna hit. Then we’re gonna split up in teams, and as much as it pains me to say this, but maybe Dean-o can get his mouth off Cassie’s dick and rally some forces from Crowley in the pit, ‘cause I’m sure the man ain’t gonna be happy too happy that someone’s trying to release good old Luci. We’re gonna stop this, alright?”

They all nod and Alex grabs her backpack from where she left it before they went to the river while Gabriel stalks down the room. 

“Cassie! Time to go!”

*

Being teleported is a strange sensation now that he is human, Castiel discovers. Before he can comment on it, however, Dean’s body is pressing him up against the door to his room, their hips perfectly aligned and hot lips on Castiel’s mouth. 

Dean swallows the surprised moan that escapes him, licking his way past his lips while a hand is already unzipping Castiel’s fly. 

“Dean, we don’t have time,” he tries feebly, even though his cock is already twitching in anticipation. 

“We’ll just have to be quick, then,” Dean purrs against his throat as he wrestles Castiel’s pants down. They pool around his ankles, just like Dean’s jeans do when he gets them free. Underwear follows and before Castiel has time to process any of this, Dean wraps a calloused hand around both their half-hard cocks, stroking them to full hardness.

It still feels as good now that he is human, Castiel realizes as a wave of pleasure courses through his body when Dean’s thumb rubs across the slit of his cock. Dean’s tugs are fast and hard and all Castiel can do it hold onto his shoulders and thrust his hips up, rubbing against Dean’s erection. 

“Cassie! Time to go!” sounds Gabriel’s voice from outside the door and Castiel is about to withdraw with a whine, yet Dean’s grip on his hip only tightens in response, keeping him right where he is. 

“Come one, little bro!”

Dean growls and suddenly, the palm against Castiel’s hip is gone. A whelp from Gabriel is the only hint he can gather as to what is happening before Dean falls to his knees in front of him, having released their throbbing erections, and swallows him down without preamble. 

“Dean,” Castiel moans, winding his hands into Dean’s hair. His partner sets a fast pace, has pleasure curling in the pit of Castiel’s stomach within mere minutes and when their eyes meet, Castiel falls into the pitch black abyss and spills his release into Dean’s mouth. 

He watches, dazed, as the muscles in Dean’s throat contract while the rhythm of the hand he has on his own cock becomes erratic until he coats the floor with streaks of white fluid. 

Dean is on his feet with remarkable speed, pressing Castiel back into the door with a searing kiss. 

“We need to go,” Dean whispers as he draws back enough to meet Castiel’s eyes with his own, once again a vibrant green. “There’s sorta an apocalypse going on.”

“Sort of?” 

“Well, someone’s breaking seals and –“

“What?!”

“We’re working on it; you guys just get that damn gate to Heaven open again before you worry about this mess, alright?”

Castiel’s body has frozen up, along with his mind – or the latter might just be a delayed effect from his orgasm. They are equally intense now that he is human, as it turns out. 

“Let’s face the music, c’mon.”

Dean grabs his hand and pulls him off the door, leading him back to the main hall, yet a furious looking Gabriel intercepts them in the hallway. Before Castiel knows it, his brother has shoved Dean up against the wall, one arm across his chest. 

“You use your demon mojo on me one more time, amigo, and you’re gonna know what smiting means, capiche?” Gabriel growls. 

Dean grins down at him, which only serves to enrage Gabriel even more. Whatever he does to retaliate, it makes Dean twitch and grunt in pain, his eyes turning black again. 

Castiel steps forward without consciously choosing to do so.

“Not one word out of you, brother,” Gabriel snaps, releasing his grip on Dean as he moves to face him. “I’ve condoned this long enough, but when it’s getting in the way of our mission, then my patience’s gone. Get your ass back to the main room; we’ll grab Kevin and do this damn spell and then we’ll rally the forces to stop those freakin’ seals before some dickhead undoes all our hard work!”

Castiel glances at Dean, who looks unharmed despite his bruised ego, and tries to convey what he wants to say through a look. Dean’s lips curl into a smile in response, so maybe it worked. 

*

“What the hell, Dean?” 

“Sammy, don’t get your tits in a twist, don’t you got a job to do?”

“Yeah, and so do you, if you could stop humping your boyfriend while we’re dealing with the apocalypse! Again!”

“What’s my job, then? The archdick didn’t take the time to fill me in.”

“Guys!” 

They both spin around to where Alex is sitting at the map table, scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper she got from who knows where. 

“I’m trying to concentrate here, so Sam, go to the library and see what you can find, and Dean, Gabriel wants you to inform Crowley of what’s going on and gather some forces. We’re going to split up once Heaven is re-opened and I’ve completed the list of seals that are yet to be hit.”

Dean grumbles, but he hates to admit it, it’s actually a decent plan. Sammy’s giving him bitchface number twelve, so Dean better hightail outta here. 

He finds Crowley in his office. 

“Please, come in, knocking is for primates, am I right?” Crowley sneers as Dean simply shoulders into the room. 

“I got news.”

“You mean that the Bible Club took down Enemy of the State Number One and have hauled him to Heaven, where they are now going to reopen the gates and reestablish our much beloved status quo?”

“Nope.”

As expected, Crowley narrows his eyes at him. “Well, what is it? I’ve got plans for Christmas, you know.”

Dean squares his shoulders – his boss is gonna be pissed and truth be told, Dean’s not in the best of moods either, despite his short reprieve with Cas. 

“Someone’s been opening seals. There’s maybe twenty left of ‘em, but we got a girl who’s gonna make a list of those that are gonna be hit next. Gabe thought I should tell you, since you ain’t gonna want them to reach 66 anytime soon.”

Dean watches on as various shades of emotion flicker across Crowley’s face – disbelief, surprise, finally ending in anger. Nope, not just anger – the King of Hell looks furious. 

“WHAT?!” he bellows and Dean finds his back against a wall for the second time in under thirty minutes. “Tell me you’re lying,” Crowley growls, his face mere inches from Dean’s. 

“Sorry. Some demon stole the Book of Seals and they’re working their way through it. We stopped them from digging up gold in the Euphrates but none of the guys there’d sing.”

“Then you didn’t try hard enough!”

“I tried every trick in the book,” Dean snaps back, ‘cause damned if someone doubts his torture skills. That shit ain’t flying. “They wouldn’t talk! They’re hella loyal and got their minds set on bringing Lucifer back, so you better get with the program.”

With one – decidedly painful, even though Dean doesn’t allow himself to wince – shove, Crowley releases his hold on him and starts pacing in front of his desk. 

“Alright. Here’s what we’re going to do: You’ll keep this quiet, you hear me? We’ll keep this on a need-to-know basis. Once that girl of yours got a list, you call me and we’ll set you and your Knights to work. But not a word to them, you hear me? This is an inside job and we aren’t gonna trust anyone.”

Crowley nods, so Dean turns to leave. 

“Oh, and Dean?”

Crowley is smirking when Dean meets his eyes again. 

“You should show a bit more initiative there. Just ‘cause you like a little mayhem and chaos now doesn’t erase that you played a huge part in taking down the old boss. He’s gonna torture you even more than he’ll torture me. Get that in your noggin’ before you use anything less than your full energy on this.”

*

Kevin likes Heaven. True, he has only seen the administrative rooms so far (and isn’t it strange to think of Heaven as something that needs to be managed like any other institution?) but he enjoys the feeling of the place. 

All angels are friendly, ready to help him and get him anything he needs. Thanks to their efficiency he has set up the spell in no time at all. 

“Alright, kiddo, what do I gotta do?” Gabriel asks, his tone surprisingly patient given the situation. 

“I’ll walk you through it, but you need to complete the ritual in one go and on your own. Interruptions might mess with it, I’m not sure.”

“Better safe than sorry, then. Hit me.”

Kevin explains everything he has been able to gather, the exact sequence of adding which ingredient and how. As it turns out, they need the entire snake. Kevin knows it is a dumb thought, but he sort of feels for the animal. After all, the snake itself has never done anything wrong – it just was at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong fallen angel in its vicinity. 

Gabriel completes the spell without problems. The snake erupts in flames and a white light breaks from beneath its scales, so bright that Kevin has to shield his eyes. 

When all is done, the only thing left in the ritual bowl is Death’s ring. 

“Did it work?” Kevin dares.

He receives his answer when a deafening cheer fills every corner of Heaven, angels celebrating and – are they flying?

“We did it, kiddo!” Gabriel shouts above the noise. “We gave them their wings back! Heaven is open for business again!”

Gabriel pulls him into a hug before he flies off, shaking hands here and there. Kevin’s lips almost hurt from how broad his grin is. Yet when he glances around and his eyes fall on Castiel, his expression falters at the sight of slumped shoulders. 

“Cas?”

“Apparently I am to remain human.”

“Oh, I’m sorry –“

“It’s not your fault, Kevin. You did a marvelous job. Look around. My brothers and sisters have their wings back and we can rebuild Heaven.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Castiel shrugs, forcing a smile despite the hurt in his eyes. “You forget that there is an apocalypse. I might not be the strongest warrior in my human form, but I am an extra pair of hands.”

“Cassie, there you are!” Gabriel cuts in. “Let’s go, we need to tell the others about what’s going on, assign tasks, then get back down to collect that list.”

“But Gabriel, I’m not one of you anymore –“

“Nonsense, we still need you; can’t organize the troops on my own, now come on. And you,” Gabriel adds, pointing at Kevin. “You better start thinking about what you wanna do now.”

Before Kevin has time to react, the two men have gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

However, he made up his mind long ago. He said he would be done for good after Heaven had been reopened. All that is left to do is bid goodbye to Sam and Dean and hopefully his mother, and then he will hand over the torch to another prophet. 

He has given all that he is able to give. 

*

He bids his final farewell to Sam and Dean first. While Castiel is overseeing the progress in Heaven, Gabriel takes Kevin down to earth one last time, Death’s ring in his pockets to hand over to the hunters. 

Dean pulls him into a brief hug, too brief to give Kevin any peace of mind. He can’t help but worry about the older Winchester. 

“Thank you for everything,” Sam murmurs when it is his turn to embrace Kevin. It’s a crushing hug, full of desperation as if Sam has to assure himself that this time it’s not his fault that Kevin dies. 

“It’s okay now. My work is done.”

“You did good.”

“Thank you.”

They look at each other for a moment longer before Gabriel, ever so tactful, clears his throat. “Alright, kiddo, off we pop. I’ll see you clowns in a bit.”

Before he knows it, he is standing in his living room. The noise coming from the kitchen tells him where to find his mother. They take one look at each other and both their eyes are immediately filling with tears. 

They knew this moment would come, but still. Kevin holds on tighter, breathing in the familiar smell of floral perfume and home. Gabriel gives them their space, but Kevin knows the archangel has more pressing things to do. With a heavy heart, he withdraws. 

“I’ll see you in another life.”

“Oh, Kevin,” she sighs, caressing his cheek one last time. “Take care.” She nods at Gabriel, who steps forward wearing a grim expression. 

The last thing Kevin remembers are his mother’s pride-filled eyes, her cheeks still slightly wet, before the world becomes dark. 

*

**Three weeks later**

Castiel is rubbing a hand across his face in a vain attempt to wake himself up a little more. The need for sleep is counterproductive during the apocalypse; that much has become evident in the past weeks. 

Finally, his cell phone rings, Sam’s name appearing on screen. 

“Hello?”

“We did it!” Sam practically shouts into the other end. “We stopped them!”

“That’s wonderful, Sam.”

“How’re the others faring?”

Castiel glances at the map in front of him. Different colors signify different groups of people hunting down seals. Dean’s black figurine, a knight (Gabriel’s idea), is still standing in the North of Great Britain. Five garrisons are scattered across the globe and Sam and Alex’ stand-in (a moose, something Castiel hopes Sam will never know about) currently resides in Idaho. 

“I have yet to hear back from Stonehenge, but Hannah and her garrison have averted civil war in Hungary. The others are scouting and have not found another seal.”

“Well, that’s… good, right?”

“We are currently at 58 opened seals, Sam. I would not define that as ‘good’.”

“Yeah, thanks for that downer, Cas.”

“Keeping you happy is not my responsibility,” Castiel snaps before he can stop himself. He immediately regrets his outbursts. He is _fine_. Perfectly fine. 

There is silence on the other line for a moment before Castiel can hear Sam drawing a deep breath. 

“Any word from Dean lately?”

“He seems to be rather busy. So am I, frankly.”

“I know, just… Have you seen him? Do you know how he’s…. faring?”

“I’m afraid I cannot provide you with the answer you are looking for, Sam. I last saw Dean one and a half weeks ago. He was,” Castiel pauses, trying to find a descriptor that does not send Sam into a spiral of worry and sorrow. “He is the most efficient man we have in this fight, Sam.”

The ensuing silence is the loudest Castiel has ever witnessed. 

“We’re heading south, alright? Alex’s sure there’ll be at least one seal in Las Vegas and we haven’t recorded any suspicious activity there yet. They’re bound to strike there sooner or later, might as well check it out while we’re in the vicinity.”

“I’ll make note of it. Good luck, Sam.”

The hunter hangs up without saying goodbye, leaving Castiel staring at the knight standing over Stonehenge. Castiel had spend two days talking Gabriel into taking him down to earth so he could meet Dean and when he did, he barely recognized the man in front of him. 

Dean’s jaw was set, the Mark a continuous glowing presence on his forearm. They hadn’t talked, not really. Kissing Dean felt like coming home, but it was rougher than usually, more forceful. Castiel tried to tell himself it is because he is human now. He’s not as strong anymore, so of course Dean’s touches will have more pressure behind them. 

That was not it, though. Almost two weeks in the constant presence of his fellow knights, days spent torturing and hunting demons for information on who is opening seals… it changed Dean, but Castiel is at a loss at what to do. He tried talking to Dean but was silenced with a kiss and frankly, after so long without his lover, it hadn’t taken much to persuade him to drop the issue. Afterwards Castiel tried again, only to be placated with “I’m great, Cas, really,” and then interrupted by another knight with news about a potential informant before he could inquire further. 

And now there are only eight seals between them and the apocalypse and Castiel has no idea how they are supposed to win this. 

*

Sam hangs up with a sigh that draws Alex’ attention. She is cleaning her weapons on one of the twin beds, wiping off the blood and dirt. 

“No word from your brother?”

Sam shakes his head. The euphoric mood from just moments ago has long since dissipated. 58 seals down. 

Alex rises, setting down the long knife behind her. “We’re loosing, aren’t we?”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, no need to wallow in pity then. If we pack up now we’ll hit the 93 before midnight. We can be in Vegas before lunch tomorrow if we take turns driving.”

She has a point. Alex always has a point, Sam has already noticed that. She’s a good hunter – intuitive, well trained, fast. Under different circumstances, Sam would have asked her out on a real date, wined and dined her, kissed her underneath the clear black sky… 

As it is, he kissed her in the aftermath of a particularly violent encounter with five demons that were opening a seal in North Dakota. Sam’s knife got stuck between the ribs of a demon the exact moment another one was approaching him from behind. Alex threw one of her holy water bombs at it, buying Sam enough time to wrench free Ruby’s knife and end the attacker’s life. 

They stared at each other, breathing hard, before Alex began to pile up the bodies like they always did. Alex, as a pastor’s daughter, said a few words before Sam set fire to them. 

It was afterwards, back at the motel, when Alex was tending to a wound tearing through Sam’s side, that her hands strayed after she had bandaged him. Soft strokes across his naked skin were something Sam had not felt in a long time and only when one of Alex’ hands had cupped his face did he realize that he had closed his eyes to the sensation. It was Sam who leaned in but Alex who closed the distance.

They took it easy that night, both still sore from the fight and exhausted but too lost in touches to care. 

It happened a few times since then. Nothing has changed, except maybe that they make an even better team now, Sam’s strength and bulk combined with Alex’ swiftness and aim. 

A by now familiar hand on his arm startles him out of his thoughts. 

“Let me drive first; you look done in.”

With a heavy nod, Sam fishes the keys to the Impala (which Dean handed over with much too little fuzz for Sam’s liking) and places them in Alex’ open palm, joining her in packing up their meager belongings. 

Another seal awaits. 

*

It is a joy to watch. Merrick has to hold back his smug laughter, his victorious grins, whenever he sees Dean return to report back to Crowley. His news is hardly ever good. 

Admittedly the Knights of Hell stop more seals than either the angels or that second Winchester and the pastor’s daughter, but Merrick calculates that as collateral damage for the much greater profit he will reap once Dean Winchester surely but truly takes that last step over the edge. 

It is fortunate that Merrick’s followers are loyal to a fault – the former hunter can carve them up and dismember them all he likes; they will never sing. With a few of them, Merrick has special deals in place and will repay them once victory is near. He is known to be a demon of his word, a quality Crowley himself values in his underlings, ironically, so most lackeys believe it when he tells them he will deliver them from Purgatory. 

He cannot wait to hear Crowley scream himself hoarse, just like he is shouting now, only now it is because Dean has no information. The Stonehenge seal remains unbroken (a pity, but Merrick has more seals than men to handle them), yet all demons involved ran off as soon as Dean and his merry band of soldiers arrived. 

Once Crowley is done flinging profanities at his most powerful employee, Dean emerges from the office and immediately crosses the rooms, his eyes set on Merrick. 

He would be worried, if it weren’t such a common occurrence. It was Merrick himself who suggested a little time at the rack to help Dean relax, for surely this mission he is on is stressing him out, isn’t it? 

The Winchester took him up gladly and now all Merrick has to do is step back, let Dean through, and relish the way Dean’s true form grows darker and darker, drowning out the light that once dominated it. 

*

Beth thought giving Gavin powers of his own would make him more mature. 

By Satan, was she wrong. 

Granted, not having to watch the idiot’s back most of the time has its perks, namely that Beth can go off and do her own thing, saving all of them time and herself a headache, but watching Gavin play fetch with that stupid hellhound of his using the bone of a recently skinned adulterer while giggling – _giggling!_ \- definitely brings the headache on just as well. 

“Gavin!” she snaps. “We’re on a schedule.”

“You know how he gets when I don’t play with him,” the Prophet complains and Bouncer barks in apparent agreement. 

Beth sighs. Thank Satan it’s almost over. She cannot wait to take her place in Hell’s army while Gavin goes off on his own. 

Well, only a few seals are missing, including the Big One – which is why they are currently in London, by night, at Trafalgar Square. Or rather, in one of the side streets. An endless stream of people pass them by, not in the slightest paying any heed to Gavin who is playing with a – for them – invisible dog. Some are clearly tourists, some seem to be heading to the theatre Beth caught a glimpse of, given their formal attire. 

It takes another ten minutes of watching the street before Beth sees it – a cab, and it’s in service. 

“We have it,” she tells Gavin, who picks up the bone from where Bouncer dropped it, and follows her to the side of the road. “Taxi!”

The car stops at the curb and Beth slides into the backseat, followed by Gavin and the dog. The way the cabbie’s eyes widen when he sees them in the rearview mirror (well, not them, but their true forms) is proof enough that they have found the one they are looking for. 

It is a man with dark skin and short hair. The vessel is probably from Ghana or Nigeria, Beth supposes, chosen for his occupation as a cabbie. 

“Drive,” Beth commands, hoping against hope that Gavin looks like the menacing False Prophet that he is. “We have much to discuss.”

“Who are you?” he asks once they are moving through the slow city traffic. 

“I think ya know who we are, mate,” Gavin speaks up, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a reaper, aren’t ya?”

“I’m Ekiwe, a simple cabbie.”

Beth snorts. “Yeah. Sure. We know what you do. We know you freelance. For a price.”

A pause as Ekiwe signals and switches lanes, swallowing around the lump that’s probably closing up his throat. “What are you offering and what is it you seek?”

“We need you to transport a friend of ours out of Purgatory.”

Ekiwe’s eyes widen but he neither gasps nor twitches. “That is among my skills. However, the price would be high.”

“Oh, you will be rewarded like no other, believe me,” Beth promises. “For now I can offer you money, if that’s alright with you?”

He is curious, Beth can tell. Well, he’ll know soon enough. 

“Who is your friend?”

“Her name is Lilith. And you will need to take my colleague here with you.”

Beth sees the moment Ekiwe pieces it all together – what Gavin is, who they want, why they want her and most importantly, who will reward him when the time comes. 

The driver releases a long breath, biting his lip, yet a moment later, Beth sees the resolve in his eyes. Good. Even reapers know not to screw with Lucifer and his agents. 

“I’ll do it,” Ekiwe says, sealing humanity’s fate once and for all.

*

They check into the “Sin City Hostel”, a cheap place with parking spaces located conveniently between the north and south strip. Sam carries both their luggage up the stairs to their room (with two bunk beds; they had to pay for four to be able to get it to themselves) and with every other man, Alex would have complained but she knows Sam is doing it because he thinks he ought to, not because he doubts Alex is able to carry the bags full of weapons and ammo. 

“So, what’s the plan?” she asks, digging through her bag for something that won’t make her roast in the heat of the Nevada desert. 

“Check out the town with the EMF meter, see if anything turns up?”

“I get the south strip, I wanna see the pirate ship,” Alex declares and Sam merely smiles indulgently. 

They part ways, keep in contact through text messages and brief phone calls, but nothing suspicious turns up. 

“The Luxor is having a party tonight; some exhibition of old Egyptian treasures… Might be a seal, if one of the artifacts carries an ancient curse or a plague?” Alex suggests and Sam grins. 

“You just want to dress up and go to a party,” he teases but Alex can tell that after all the bloodshed of the past weeks, he is by no means averse to the idea. 

“Like you don’t want to see me in a dress.”

“You got a dress in there?” Sam raises an eyebrow at Alex’ duffle bag. 

“No. Point.”

“Your FBI suit will do. We’ll probably need the badges to get in anyway.”

“Then let’s get ready; it starts in an hour and I doubt the feds are late to this kind of thing.”

*

As it turns out, their badges do get them in and within minutes, the manager is with them, answering all of their questions without apprehension. 

“This is Vegas, agents. Our security is tight. No one has broken in or taken anything. All the exhibits are still there and in one piece, I assure you.”

“We still need to inspect the storage and staff areas, sir,” Alex argues. “The gang we are dealing with here is incredibly smart. You wouldn’t know what counts as suspicious unless you know what to look for.”

“Alright, but I have to return to the exhibition. I’ll leave you with my chief of security.”

Said man is neither as tall nor as broad as Sam and about ten years older for which Alex is somehow grateful. She watches Theodore Danely closely as he leads them through a labyrinth of hallways and doors, set on spotting any sign that might hint at possession. 

“What’s through that door?” Sam asks, pointing ahead, past empty boxes. 

“Just the breaker box.”

“We’ll need to see that as well.”

“Really? It’s just the fuse box.” Danely tries to wave their concerns off, but that only makes Alex more suspicious. Sam, as a quick glance at him shows, feels the same. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need to cover all the bases.”

Danely huffs but starts moving. Shortly before they reach the door, Alex catches a glimpse of the wall down the room to their right. In a corner, hidden from view by the large boxes up until this point, is a fuse box. 

Alex clears her throat, watches the muscles in Sam’s back tense and his hand dart to the knife hidden underneath his jacket. She wasn’t one second too early – the next thing she knows, Danely is whirling around, eyes black. 

However, he clearly didn’t count on them being poised for his attack. 

Moments later, Sam has the demon pressed against the wall with the demon-killing knife, gesturing for Alex to help herself to the key. She is ready for a lot of things when she opens the alleged breaker box door, yet not for what she finds. 

The room is maybe three by three meters, two meters high and covered in sigils she identifies as ancient Hebrew. The entire floor is covered by a kind of pentagram Alex has only ever seen in the Book of Seals. Shattered all across the floor, visible between bowls of blood, pearls, feathers and other items are pieces of brilliant blue stone. 

She bends down, covers her fingers with her jacket sleeve and picks one of the larger pieces up to inspect it. 

They’re too late. 

“What is it?” Sam asks when she emerges. 

“One of the seals I’d never thought they’d break. ‘Like Moses thou shall shatter the word of God’. It requires the original tablets along with the blood of sinners or stolen artifacts… It’s complicated and dangerous and…”

“What?”

“Only the False Prophet can complete it.”

“ _Who?!_ ”

“The False Prophet. We need to find the second tablet. There has to be a second room just like this because the remains aren’t enough for two stone tablets.” 

“Talk!” Sam barks at Danely, who merely laughs derisively. 

“You’ll never stop us!” he declares and Alex is getting sick of the demons they encounter always throwing this exact sentence in their faces. 

“Tell me where the room is,” Sam all but growls. 

“I won’t talk.”

“Alright.”

With the knife still pressed against the demon’s throat, Sam begins the exorcism. Danely thrashes and struggles, yet in the end he is forced to leave his host. The thick black smoke escapes through a ventilation shaft, leaving the human spluttering and gagging on the ground. 

“Where can we find the room?” Sam urges the man who is looking at them with wide eyes but a glint of recognition. 

“One floor below,” he coughs. 

Sam is already on his feet before Alex holds him back at the sleeve of his jacket. “We should collect the pieces. There’s bound to be another prophet who’ll be able to put it back together.”

“Do we-“

“ _Yes,_ ” Alex insists. “It’s the _Decalogue_.”

Which is how Sam and she end up on their knees, scraping together all the pieces they can find, trying to ignore the smell emanating from some of the bowls. 

They seal it in evidence bags, repeating the action when they find the second room, ritual already completed and pieces scattered. 

It is only when they are back in their hostel room that Alex kicks the bunk bed with all the might she can muster, crying out in frustration. 

“Three seals! Three seals, Sam! We missed the False Prophet and do you even know how many other seals they could be hitting right now with such an asset? That’s 61 seals down! How are we ever gonna win?!”

Sam lets her rage, lets her shout. She hits his chest when he embraces her, squirms in his arms until the fight leaves her and her breathing is evening out to the sound of Sam’s heart. 

“We should tell Castiel,” she mumbles into Sam’s shirt. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, but instead of letting go to get his phone, he rests his chin on her head, tightening his grip, which does nothing to reduce the sense of doom that is enveloping them. 

*

Dean blinks his eyes open and immediately raises a hand to shield them from the bright light burning overhead. It takes a few more tries before he has adjusted to the brightness of the room, which turns out to be a motel bathroom. 

A drop hits his face and he makes to wipe it away, but his hand is wet. Confused, he steps in front of the mirror and flinches at what he sees. 

His arms are covered in blood, no patch of untainted skin left. The red fluid is dripping down from his elbows onto the pristine floor and suddenly, his chest starts itching where his shirt is plastered against his skin, also soaked in blood. 

What the hell happened? 

He washes his hands as well as he can, wrecking his brain for the last thing he remembers. 

_Cas. Cas, naked, writhing in pleasure. Cas, kissing his hair. Cas’ blue eyes before sleep overtook him._

Then… nothing. 

Dean tells himself not to panic as he strips off the outer layer of his clothing. His white shirt is also soaked, but not as bad as the flannel, which he discards into a corner, running a hand through his hair afterwards. 

He remembers glancing at his phone when he left Cas, recalls the time and the date – 19th June 2014. Alright, so all he needs is his phone then he’ll know what the fucking date is, ‘cause Dean can’t for the life of him say if it’s Sunday of freaking Monday or fuck knows what. 

He spies his leather jacket on the bed and goes through the pockets until his fingers close around the phone. 

He almost drops it when the screen lights up. 

8th July 2014. 

_Fuck._

*

Bouncer barks at her, wagging his tail excitedly. As Beth glances down, she sees he dropped the bone at her feet. 

“You want me to play with you while we wait?”

Another ‘woof’. Apparently, that is a yes. 

“I’m not a dog person.”

Bouncer paddles forward, nudging the makeshift toy with his black snout before looking up at her with big, red eyes. She never thought a hellhound could look cute, but Bouncer sort of manages right now. 

Heaving a sigh, Beth jumps down from where she was sitting (some ledge of some old building where no one goes after dark and she can wait for Gavin and Ekiwe to return) and picks up the bone. She has no idea how throwing a bone and bringing it back can be entertaining for longer than five seconds, though she won’t complain if Bouncer is so easily distracted from the absence of his master. 

It has already been an hour and might take another one or several, depending on how quickly they find Lilith and how often Gavin screws up the incantation and the ritual. Too bad his new powers don’t extend to his mental capacities as well. 

Huffing once more, Beth picks up the bone again and prepares for a boring wait. 

*

By the time Dean calms down enough to think, it’s gone dark outside the motel room. He finds a brochure and learns he’s in Detroit – _but what the fuck is in Detroit?_ , Dean wonders when he resumes his pacing. A seal? Did they prevent it? Did they fail?

The other knights are probably back in hell, waiting for their next orders. And Dean’s here because… because he probably wanted to call Sammy? Or Cas? Or check in with Crowley that way? 

Damned if Dean knew. 

He takes stock of his situation, forcing himself to ignore the sound of blood rushing in his ears. 

It’s been almost two weeks since his last memory. He could’ve done anything in the meantime – who’s to say the blood on his shirt’s from bad guys who deserved what they got? Who’s to say Dean didn’t kill anyone else? Two weeks is a hell of a long time and who’s he kidding, he’s been loosing time for a while now, always when he’s in demon mode. 

Dean shudders at what horrors he might’ve rained down on people. 

It hits him like a jet of holy water – he’s not in control anymore. He’s losing his mind to his demon self. He’s not a hunter anymore, he’s a monster. 

Monster. 

_You’re gonna die. And this? This is what you’re gonna become._

The memory flashes before his eyes and leaves him shaking in its wake. He hasn’t thought of that day in years, way too good at denial for it to resurface too often. He hates that it’s coming back right now, making him tremble pathetically. 

Back then, it was just a dream, a nightmare, a dream potion… He’s aware that it’s not the same, it wasn’t an omen, back then it was about him going to hell and he got out… 

But that memory. Damn it, wasn’t it once his greatest fear to become a monster? There once was a time he’d rather have died than walk the earth like he’s doing right now. 

Who were they trying to kid, huh? Did Sammy really think Dean would be able to control this ‘til the end of days? 

Cas knew. Cas was suspicious, that day when they first met after Dean’s transformation. 

_“I’m not a monster,”_ Dean remembers blurting. Remembers how much more present his emotions were with Cas there, even though they were still hidden behind a veil of darkness.

_“You have the potential.”_

_“Cain said I could hold onto my human side.”_

_“Do you want to?”_

_“What kinda question’s that? Course I want to, Cas!”_

_“You might not have a choice! I can see your true form and you have become a demon, no one can deny that.”_

Dean’s breathing hard as he recalls the agreement they came to. 

_“Damn it, Cas! Like I don’t know what’s gonna happen when I lose control?”_

Dean was sincere, just like Cas was when he said, _“Then we have an understanding.”_

Nothing’s changed. Their little affair won’t stop Cas from doing the right thing, the thing he knew he’d have to do should Dean ever loose it. 

The Mark pulses, almost as if it knows what’s going on. He’s gotta act quickly. 

With shaking hands, Dean rummages through his jacket pockets until he finds the permanent marker stored there for impromptu pentagram drawing sessions. It’s hard, incredibly hard to keep his thoughts focused on the task ahead. He can’t make a mistake, needs to get it right. 

When it’s finished, Dean places the first blade on the twin bed to his left, the one closer to the bathroom. Then he takes his phone, draws a breath that’s not at all steadying and steps into the devil’s trap. 

Once he’s made sure that he can’t get out he pulls up Cas’ contact details on his phone and hits the call button. 

*

A flash of red and blue light startles both Beth and Bouncer, who takes a defensive stance and growls at the rift in time and space that has opened. It closes quickly after it appeared, yet only after three people step out. 

Ekiwe seems thoroughly awed, Gavin is grinning like the lunatic he is and Lilith – Lilith looks as powerful as Beth imagined her to. They had to find her another vessel since her previous one was destroyed when the cage opened and Beth hopes she was satisfied with the brunette girl they selected. Not many bodies can hold such an ancient demon and the ten-year-old from Rhode Island was one of the few suitable ones they could find. 

“Now this,” Lilith speaks, the cold tone sending a shiver down Beth’s spine, “is going to be interesting.”

*

_They say it's what you make_  
 _I say it's up to fate_  
 _It's woven in my soul_  
 _I need to let you go_

_Your eyes, they shine so bright_  
 _I wanna save that light_  
 _I can't escape this now_  
 _Unless you show me how_

_\- Demons, Imagine Dragons_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy…. I think why this chapter took so long is because I was really, really nervous as to how it will be received. You still there, guys? Still excited? Not too much Beth&Gavin plot? *pathetically-fishes-for-feedback*
> 
> In other news, project “Getting Sam Laid” was finally successful! I hope no one minds me pairing them off. I know, men and women can hunt together and not end up in bed, but… I want Sam to have something that’s good. Especially considering what’s ahead… *mysterious-and-evil-laughter-in-the-distance*
> 
> PS: Anyone who wants to freak out about the upcoming premiere, contact me on [tumblr](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/) :)


	15. Episode 14 - Point Of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean calls Cas for help while Merrick’s crew is taking on the last remaining seals…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time for a big disclaimer:** Please, dear readers, whatever happens in this story, keep in mind that I am a sucker for happy endings and would never write an unhappy one. The chapters to come will be hard, but don’t doubt that there will be light at the end of the tunnel. 
> 
> That being said… I hope you like where I am taking this. It’s part of my big, complex plan for the rest of this fic which has been around since chapter 3 or 4, and I’m growing more nervous with every update. ENJOY!

_Welcome to your life_  
 _There's no turning back_  
 _Even while we sleep_  
 _We will find you_

_Acting on your best behavior_  
 _Turn your back on Mother Nature_  
 _Everybody wants to rule the world_

\- _Everybody wants to rule the world, Lorde_

*

Kemuel cannot meet his eyes when he returns from Japan. 

“We were too late, Castiel. Way too late.”

His hands ball into fists of their own accord and he forces the breath he has been holding pointedly slowly. It’s not the angel’s fault, he tries to tell himself. When they are too late, they have to deal with it. 

“Cassie! How’s it going?”

Of course this would be the moment his brother shows up, all forced cheer and fake smiles while Castiel can see the tired look in his eyes and the way his wings are dragging behind him, clearly exhausted. 

“Well,” Castiel begins, not even bothering with such much as a twitch of the lips. “Kemuel brought news from Japan. That’s another seal down, which takes us to 59 – oh, but Sam called and they did find something in Vegas: three broken seals.”

“Three?! How on Father’s green earth did these dickbags manage to break three seals in Vegas?”

“They have the False Prophet. He broke each of the Tablets of Stone.”

“You mean the second edition dear ol’ Dad gave Moses after the old chump destroyed his first copy?”

Castiel nods gravely. Gabriel can joke all he wants; it won’t change the fact that as of now, 62 seals have been opened. 

“Any news from lover boy in Rock City?”

His face falls before Castiel has a chance to reign in his reaction. “No, I –“

His phone rings. A quick glance at the caller ID makes his heart stutter. “It’s Dean,” he informs Gabriel and Kemuel before stepping out of eavesdropping range. 

“Hello Dean, I was beginning to worry.”

“Cas, this ain’t a usual check-in,” is the first thing he hears and the way Dean’s voice shakes so uncharacteristically makes the blood freeze in Castiel’s very human veins. 

“Dean, are you okay?” he asks, already able to imagine Gabriel’s pointed eye-roll since Castiel’s first question did not pertain to the seals. 

Where he expects to hear the usual “I’m fine”, however, Dean rasps out a shaky “No. Cas, I’m not fine.”

“What happened? How can I help?” 

Why is his heart rate increasing? Why is he suddenly starting to perspire and why is his chest feeling so tight? Castiel sucks in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down enough to actually hear Dean’s reply. 

“I don’t know – fuck, that’s just it, Cas, I don’t know! I got no idea what I’ve been doing since I last saw you and I came to covered in blood in some dingy motel room and I got nothing, man, not a thing.”

“Dean, listen,” Castiel grits out. Dean needs him to keep a clear head, he cannot loose his proverbial cool, not now. “Tell me where you are, then stay there until I am there. I am coming for you as fast as I can. I’ll help you.”

“You don’t understand, Cas,” Dean all but murmurs. “I’m gone. I’ve been gone and done fuck knows what. I lost it, Cas.”

He hears the implication but the thought alone is unfathomable. Dean cannot have turned into the monster everyone feared he would. No. Not now. Not after… 

“Dean, we’ll cross that bridge when I’m there. Tell me where you are, please.”

“Detroit, Morningstar Motel. Classy, right?” A dry laugh, then Dean falls silent. 

“I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, man.”

The line goes dead and for a full minute, Castiel cannot move. 

“Cassie?” Of course Gabriel would stay behind. “Cassie, what’s wrong? Another seal down?”

“I don’t know,” he replies hollowly. “I need to go.”

“What? You’ve got a position here, brother –“

“Dean needs me, Gabriel!”

“Oh, of course, ‘cause your black-eyed boyfriend’s so much more important that stopping the apocalypse!”

“Something happened! He needs me!”

“And for what? What happened, Castiel? Did he finally go ‘round the bend? Kill a virgin, drink her blood?” Castiel shudders. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s what he’s capable of, only you and moose don’t wanna see it ‘cause you’re so blinded by love that you haven’t noticed how violent that boy’s gotten!”

“Don’t you think I noticed?” Castiel retaliates, shoving Gabriel with both hands on his chest. “I did and it’s been killing me, knowing that there is nothing I can do to help because we are in over our heads with this. But now, _now_ I can help!”

“How? Don’t think for a second that you can fool me, kiddo. You ain’t got it in you to do what needs be done.”

Castiel glares for lack of any comeback at all and Gabriel holds his gaze, fury in his eyes, his face hard. Moments pass like this before the archangels steps closer so that they are standing toe to toe. 

“Listen to me, Castiel. Your boyfriend is a Knight of Hell. You saw what they did. You can imagine what Dean’s capable off when he finally gives in completely. I know you, Cassie – you might mean well but you always fuck up epically. Only this time, if you fuck this up, the consequences are gonna be bad. So promise me, Cas: Take him down. Or I’ll do it and throw you in the cellar for the next few millennia for treason. Oh wait,” the angel adds with a sneer. Castiel feels a pang at the reminder of his new-found mortality. 

“I get it, Gabriel. Now let me go.”

“Mark my words, Cassie. There’ll come a moment when –“

But which moment that would be, Castiel never learns for he is already out of the room. He needs help to reach the motel as soon as possible and even though Dean called him, Sam needs to be involved. The Winchesters have a talent for talking each other out of bad situations – they will need this today. 

He finds Haschmal in the armory with another low-level warrior, Jophiel, he thinks. They immediately stand to attention when Castiel enters, which after all this time still does not fails to amaze him. He has lost all his powers but none of the respect his fellow brothers and sisters grace him with. 

“I need your help,” is what he begins with, and the two are more than willing. He sends Haschmal for Sam – and for Sam only. Alexandra Kahr is a capable huntress yet she has never been too fond of Dean. Castiel would not trust her within twenty feet of him in whatever state he currently is. Meanwhile, Jophiel takes him straight to the motel with strict orders not to reveal his location to anyone. She promises, and Castiel can but hope she will keep her word. 

Then he enters the building. 

*

He finds room 309 without problems and pauses in front of the door, considering the brass numbers in his line of sight. What an inconsequential number, Castiel notes. He doubts, however, that he would have felt better if it were something foreboding.

He knocks, expecting to hear footsteps that never come. 

“Cas?”

“Dean, please open the door.”

“I can’t let you in, Cas. You still got that lock picking set, right?”

His hand jerks towards the inside pocket of his trenchcoat. It was a present from Dean, along with lessons as to how he could open doors in the absence of a key. With shaking hands, Castiel sets to work. 

It cannot have taken more than a two or three minutes, but the time drags by until finally, Castiel pushes the door open, shutting it firmly behind him. 

“Dean!” The gasp escapes him before he can stop it. Dean is sitting on the floor inside a large devil’s trap painted on the floor between the two beds. The first blade is lying on the mattress to Castiel’s left, where he also spies the door to the bathroom. 

“It’s the only way I wouldn’t run off, Cas,” Dean explains, his left hand scratching at the skin of his right arm which is exposed since he is only wearing a t-shirt. A bloodied t-shirt. 

“It’ll be alright, Dean. Sam’s on his way –“

“You called Sammy?” There is a faint touch of panic in his voice. 

“Yes, he needs to be here. We’ll find a solution.”

“I got one for you –“

“We have to consider other options first –“

“I’m a monster, Cas!” Dean is shouting now, jumping to his feet and would probably have advanced on him if it weren’t for the pentagram on the floor. 

“You’re not right now,” Castiel argues, knowing that his point will be moot as soon as the call of the Mark becomes too strong to ignore. 

“Listen,” Dean starts after breathing in deeply, “I called you ‘cause we had a deal. You said you’d take me down, Cas, and I need you to do it now.”

“We don’t know for sure if we actually _can_ kill you, Dean.”

“Then hand me the damn blade and I’ll do it myself!”

There is no doubt now – Dean does not want to die or he would have turned the blade on himself in the first place. But no, he called Castiel, knowing that he would not be able to do as he threatened before… before things changed. 

Castiel drags his eyes back from the floor to meet Dean’s. “If you really wanted this, you would have done that before calling me.”

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean grouses and would have gone one, yet suddenly the door bursts open and there is Sam, alone, knife at the ready. He glances around, taking in the situation. 

“Who put you in there?”

“I did.”

“Why?” Sam’s voice is barely more than a whisper. He certainly knows the answer already, though Castiel figures he wants to hear his brother say it in person. 

Dean swallows, his eyes wet. “’cause I got no clue what I’ve done for the past two weeks. I’ve been loosing time and every time I get to I’m covered in blood. I know what it means, Sammy. I’m loosing control. Trapped myself and then called Cas ‘cause I’d’ve run otherwise.”

“So what, Dean, you expect us to just slaughter you?” A resigned nod and Castiel feels his chest tighten again. “No.”

Dean’s head whips up and he blinks at his brother with wide eyes. 

“I won’t kill you, Dean. There’s gotta be a way to help you.”

“I’m beyond help, Sammy! Now stop this crap and get this show on the road!”

“You’re fine right now, aren’t you? You’re lucid? We’ll find a way to keep you that way, there’s gotta be a spell or a ritual, I’ll check the library and Cas’ll see if maybe Gabe knows something and we’ll figure this out, you can’t leave me, Dean.” 

It all escapes Sam in a rush and he stumbles over some words but his resolution is evident. 

“Cut it out, Sammy!” Dean snaps. “There’s no salvation for me, get that in that thick head o’yours!” 

“I’m with Sam on this,” Castiel finally says, drawing the brothers’ attention. “We have to check first if there really is no way to save you before taking drastic measures.”

A frustrated roar tears from Dean’s throat and he kicks at the invisible walls surrounding him. With great effort, he locks his jaw, lowers himself to the floor and proceeds to glare at them. 

For a few seconds, no one moves. 

“Alright, okay,” Sam stammers, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s think. There’s gotta be a way.”

“We cannot exorcise him. He is not possessed.”

“We could cure him.”

Dean growls from his position on the floor. “Are you outta your mind? You almost died last time! No way in hell you gonna try that shit with me.”

“Also it would close Heaven since you would be completing the Trials of God, Sam. And, frankly…”

“What, Cas?” Sam snaps at him. 

“I doubt Dean can be classified as a usual demon. His soul was not twisted in Hell after death like Crowley’s was. The ritual has been designed to cure such demons, not Knights of Hell.”

Silence falls and Castiel can see Sam’s thoughts tumbling over each other in his head. Dean seems satisfied that they have abandoned this line of thought but is still glaring at them. The Mark is glowing faintly where it has not done so when Castiel laid eyes on Dean, however. If it weren’t for its distinct form, it would not be noticeable on Dean’s arm given how irritated the skin has become from all his scratching. 

“The Mark,” Castiel murmurs, unsure of where his thoughts will lead him, yet there is something… 

“What’s that, Cas?”

“The Mark,” he repeats. “It’s what kept Dean alive after Metatron stabbed him. It’s the Mark that turned him into a Knight and that compels him to kill again and again.”

He can see the moment of clarity in Sam’s hazel eyes when he understands. 

“We get rid of the Mark,” the younger brother says, “we get Dean back.”

“What? Wait, no!” Dean is scrambling to his feet again. “That ain’t gonna work either, you can’t just cut it off and Cain’s dead, he can’t do nothing either.”

The point throws Castiel for a loop momentarily. Cain is gone, unable to do anything. Who else holds power over the Mark? Crowley? 

Next to him, Sam releases a long breath and Castiel glances over, then does a double-take when he sees Sam’s wide-eyes expression. 

“Sam?”

The hunter swallows hard, pinches the bridge of his nose and starts pacing without saying a word. Castiel repeats his question and Dean’s face has twisted into a scowl, half worried, half annoyed. 

Finally, Sam stops, facing them both dead on. 

“We don’t need Cain. We go back further, up the chain of command. Get the one who put the Mark on him in the first place.”

Castiel’s brain freezes, then jumps into overdrive. “Lucifer?” 

“You’re crazy! Absolutely crazy!” 

Dean may be complaining but Castiel’s eyes are fixed on Sam. His expression allows no room for doubt and his eyes are hard, his entire body tense. It is a mad idea, probably certifiable, and Castiel has had some rather ridiculous ideas himself so he should know what he is talking about. But at the same time, Castiel knows that Sam is right. Lucifer would be able to erase the Mark and restore Dean to his former self. If it weren’t for one problem. 

“Sam, you locked Lucifer into the Cage. We have no way of getting to him.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth twitch at that and a hand sneaks into his breast pocket. Castiel watches, the reality of what Sam is suggesting dawning on him with shocking intensity, as the younger Winchester holds out Death’s Ring. 

“Yes, we have.”

*

*

An eerie calm spreads through Sam’s body, fills him up and evens out his breathing, lowers his pulse. The Ring is cold in his palm, an object foreign to this plane. 

It is so obvious now that he has realized it. He doubts they would manage to kill Dean even if they wanted to, and damn, Sam would rather end his own life than leave Dean to die and suffer in Hell for all eternity or roam the earth as the exact thing he has been taught to hunt with all his power. 

Sam was prepared to pay any price necessary after he brought Dean’s lifeless form back to the bunker all these months ago. Nothing’s changed. Dean is his brother and deserves so much more, especially now that he’s finally gotten his act together with Cas. 

It is selfish, true. But it’s Dean. 

Dean, who’s ranting inside the devil’s trap like a gossiping teenager, gesturing wildly and flinging curses at the both of them, but Sam tunes him out. 

“Sam… are you sure?” is all Castiel asks. 

“Yes. What about you, Cas?”

The former angel hesitates. “I am under orders from Gabriel. He wants me to end Dean’s life if he has lost control.” 

Even if Sam hadn’t known Cas for as long as he has, he still would’ve been able to tell that Cas’s struggling. He’s biting his lip, eyes trained on Sam and not for a second darting over to Dean. 

“It’s your choice, Cas. I can’t make you… but I could really use your help.”

Only then does Cas look at Dean, who seems to have run out of steam and is watching them both, left hand scratching his skin again. When Cas speaks next, he’s talking to his brother. 

“I know what we agreed, Dean. But that was before we… you know. You cannot expect me to fulfill my part now. Things have changed and I will do whatever it takes to save you.”

Sam suddenly remembers the picture in Cain’s house, the one of the woman who was the reason the man abandoned his station at Lucifer’s side. For a moment Sam wonders if Cas could be the same for Dean as Colette was to Cain. Maybe. Maybe if they didn’t have such a long history, and if Dean weren’t Dean, with all his issues and inferiority complexes and a little brother to protect. Maybe if Cas told him he loves him. 

“Cas, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but listen to your freakin’ brother!”

“No. I won’t.”

Dean forces out a breath, is probably trying to come up with a way to stop them. Sam has never been gladder that Dean lost his ability to pray when his eyes turned black for the first time. 

Castiel is looking up at Sam now, decided and on board. Alright. Now all that’s standing between Sam and saving his brother is binding Death and visiting Lucifer. 

*

“How many left to break?”

“Three before the final one, Lilith.”

“You did good. Lucifer will be pleased with your work.”

“Thank you,” Beth manages, even though her voice trembles slightly. 

“Are your men already working on these three seals?”

“Yes,” Merrick butts in. He only just arrived, not having been able to give Crowley the slip unnoticed before. Judging by the smirk he is sporting, Beth would assume the King of Hell is getting more and more anxious by the hour. “One team is in Argentina right now, though I heard about the angels targeting that location as well. It hardly matters – we have other groups in other countries, ready to strike should they fail, and two more working on the remaining seals. The one in Mali should be reporting back soon.”

“Good.” Lilith is still inhabiting the body of the young girl from Rhode Island, but her tone is cold and eerie. “Can we expect the last three seals to be broken before the day is over?” 

Merrick nodded. “I assure you.”

“Then we can advance to St. Mary’s Convent.”

“Oi, what’s that?” Gavin throws in, showing no respect or curtsey. Beth resists the urge to smack him across the head. 

Lilith’s stare speaks volumes. At least Beth is not the only one Gavin annoys. 

“The place where the sixty-sixth seal shall be broken.” Her lips curl into a toothy grin. “Where you’ll kill me.”

“What, me?!” Gavin yelps. 

“You’re the False Prophet,” Lilith deigns to explain. “It is your honor to complete the seals and set Lucifer free this time around.”

“Oh, alright…” Gavin looks worried, probably about killing a girl and Beth shakes her head as they follow Lilith and Merrick. She only hopes that the competence of the Prophet aren’t an indication of the times to follow. 

*

Sam leaves Cas with Dean while he hitches a ride back to the bunker with the same angel who brought him to the motel. All he has to find is the book with the rituals pertaining to Death, get the ingredients and they’re all set. 

“What’s going on?”

Alex is standing in the doorway, narrowing her eyes at Sam who is running a finger along the spines of the books on the shelf. 

“Cas needs my help,” Sam lies. “He’s joining in but he’s not as strong as he used to. He needs back up.”

All Alex does is nod. “I’ll go get my stuff. Meet you in the garage?”

“Alright.”

Sam speeds up his actions, hurriedly checking the book and collecting what they need. He’ll have to send Haschmal for certain items, but it seems manageable. When he turns around in order to go off in the opposite direction as the garage, he finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Alex’ gun. 

“What, you run off with an angel and don’t think I’ll be suspicious as hell?” she grips. “What’s going on?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Sam swallows, eyes darting around the room, looking for a way out of this without causing too much hard. 

“Listen. I gotta do something and you can’t come with me. So put down the gun, get your things and check on another seal. We’re running out of time to stop this.”

“Then why aren’t you with me, Sam? Is it your brother?”

His expression probably betrays him for Alex’ eyes widen and her grip on the weapon tightens. 

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he begins, then does the only thing he can think of – he pounces on her, hitting the gun out of her hand and smashing her head against the bookshelf hard enough to knock her out, yet not hard enough to cause any damage. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he picks up the duffel bag with ingredients and the book and walks out of the bunker. 

*

A white light erupts from the bowl and the second the ritual works, Sam feels the connection running through him. His body floods with relief. One step closer. 

“You must be joking,” comes Death’s dry remark and Sam’s eyes blink open and settle on the old man in a suit, standing with his back to the window and surveying the room. He glares at both Sam and Cas before he eventually glimpses Dean. His expression remains blank. 

“I know you didn’t give us your ring to abuse it and I’m sorry, but we need you,” Sam hurries to explain. “One thing and then you’ll be free, I promise.”

“Like you promised to return my ring as soon as Heaven was reopened?”

_Well_. Sam clears his throat nervously. “For real, this time.”

Death’s eyes come to rest on Dean. He seems wistful all of a sudden. “I will have to disappoint you, Sam. Castiel. Removing the Mark of Cain lies even beyond my capabilities.”

“We know,” Castiel cuts in. “That is not what we’re asking.”

“Don’t listen to them!” Dean interrupts. “They’re mad!”

“Oh, that one was quite obvious,” Death drawls, raising his hand. Silver, semi-transparent shackles glimmer around his wrists. “Though I’m afraid my options are rather limited, Dean.”

“Exactly.” Sam finally finds his voice again. He knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that the horseman will reap him first chance he gets when this is all over. But he knew going in that binding him – again – would mean signing his own death warrant. “You will take me into Hell and into Lucifer’s cage. You retrieved my soul so I know you can get in there. You will protect me from harm and enable me to talk to Lucifer.”

The eyebrows of his vessel draw up. “You wish to converse with the devil? Now, why could that be?”

“I think you know.”

“Indeed.” 

Silence envelopes the room. Sam cannot feel Death resisting the binding which is good. Sam isn’t sure he’d be strong enough to really fight him. Eventually, Death sighs. 

“I need to know that you are sure, Sam. The price you will have to pay will be enormous. It might not be worth what you will receive in return.”

“I owe him this,” Sam insists, finally voicing a thought that has been sitting at the back of his mind for a while now. After all Dean has done for him, Sam needs to give something back. He has the opportunity to let Dean have something with Cas, a chance at happiness, even if the apocalypse is on the horizon. It makes a twisted kind of sense but Sam knows it is the right thing to do for him in this situation. The alternatives are just too dire. “I won’t let Dean die and I won’t let him become a monster –“

“I’m already a monster, Sammy! Damn it, listen to me!” Then Dean groans, clutching his arm. It hurts to see his brother in such agony and Sam’s resolve doubles.

“Let’s go,” he orders, meeting Dean’s eyes across the room. Cas nods at him, shifting his stance. 

“Very well,” Death say with a finality to it. Then he touches Sam’s shoulder and all goes black. 

*

Merrick’s phone chimes, the sound bouncing off the walls of the ancient convent. Beth expected to find ruins but apparently the ground had closed up again after spitting out the Devil last time. 

“The last one has been broken,” Merrick announces as he puts the keylock back into his phone. 

“That was fast,” Gavin comments from the ground where he is petting Bouncer’s fur. 

“Well, they’re efficient and know what they’re doing, as opposed to some people,” Beth sneers and to her surprise, Gavin actually picks up on the teasing this time. 

“What’re ya suggesting? I managed to resurrect the girl, didn’t I? Ya shouldn’t call me incompetent, mind you.”

“That girl is the most ancient and most powerful demon to ever walk he earth,” Beth grits out before she can stop herself, “and you should show her some respect.”

“But she’s just a kid!”

“And standing right here, you know,” Lilith chides with a roll of her eyes. “Also, I’m eager to start. I haven’t spent years in purgatory to dawdle.”

She looks at Gavin expectantly and he jumps to his feet, flushing in embarrassment. “Oh, yes, apologies.”

He picks up the knife Merrick brought from the depths of Hell for just this moment and approaches Lilith who emanates calmness and authority. Beth uses these last moments to bask in her presence and get accustomed to it. Soon she will be standing in the presence of Lucifer himself. 

“So shall I just…. How should I do this?” Gavin asks with wide eyes, hand clutching the knife. 

Beth can’t help the groan that escapes her. Really, one would think starting the apocalypse could be done with a miniscule amount of awe and honor. But of course, they’re talking about Gavin here. 

“Stab me in the throat,” Lilith advises. “The faster I bleed out, the faster the cage will open.”

“Yes. Of course. Obviously.” Gavin takes another step forward, raises the knife, takes aim and delivers the blow. 

He misses the carotid artery – who the fuck misses the carotid artery? – and rams the weapon into the space between Lilith’s shoulder and collar bone. Beth catches her glare at the False Prophet before she tumbles down, hair fanned out across the stone floor. Yet the blood starts flowing, filling the lines in the ground and the earth starts to shake. 

“We should take our leave,” Merrick decides. “We won’t survive standing right here for very long.”

Beth nods and she drags Gavin back at his collar because the guy didn’t look like he was going to move on his own. He’s too preoccupied with staring down at Lilith and his own hands. 

The spiral on the floor is almost completely filled with blood when they finally manage to teleport away, anxiety rushing through all their veins in light of the events that they have set in motion. 

*

When Sam opens his eyes, he is in a dungeon. The air smells stale, with a hint of copper to it, and the walls are dirty, crusted blood covering large parts of the stone. 

In one corner Sam spies a crumbled form, trembling violently. “Adam?” he calls out softly, hardly able to believe that his plan worked. 

“He cannot hear you. Neither can Michael,” Death explains, pointing out the second figure of which Sam can’t discern shape of features. 

“Well, well, well, the wayward son returns.”

Sam spins around and there he is – Lucifer, grinning at him from where he is leaning almost casually against a wall. The voice that has haunted Sam’s mind for months, years even. He remembers how it felt to have Lucifer inside his body, the synergy, the sense of belonging, and the revulsion at what the fallen angel did. His vessel, Nick, looks good, all lacerations gone. Though it is probably just part of the Cage’s magic.

“What brings you here to my humble accommodation? I see you brought a friend.” Lucifer sends Death a toothy grin, pushing himself off the wall. “What’s up, Sammy? Devil’s got your tongue?” He laughs at his own joke. 

“I came to negotiate a deal.”

Blue eyes widen. “And why would you want that? You see, I’ve been a bit out of the loop for the past few years. Been having too much fun with brother dearest and our little chew toy.”

“You remember Cain?”

Lucifer’s lips spread into a broad grin as he takes a step in Sam’s direction. “Sure I do. So eager to save his brother… Like some other people I know.” He winks, smirking. “My best soldier for centuries, but then he had to go and get himself a girlfriend. Tedious, to say the least. What? Is he making trouble again?”

“He gave his Mark to Dean.”

The information lights Lucifer’s eyes on fire. “Ohhh, nice one. Wait!” He holds up a hand, touching the index finger of the other to his lips and striking a thoughtful pose. “I can connect the dots, my brain’s still very much intact, despite how much brother Michael tries to give me brain damage,” he sneers, then grins at Sam and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You’re here to get me to remove the Mark, aren’t you, Sammy?”

“Yes.” Sam’s pulse doesn’t spike. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“And what are you prepared to give me in return?”

Suddenly, Lucifer is standing right in front of him, their faces inches apart and the angel’s eyes take in his features. 

“Name your price,” Sam dares him, though deep inside he knows what Lucifer will ask for. It is not a difficult conclusion to come to. 

Predictably, Lucifer chuckles, lowering his head and looking up at him through his lashes. “Oh, don’t play coy, Sammy. You know what I want. Death over there knows what I want. Dean-o knows what I want. Is he too far gone already or did he try to stop you?”

Sam doesn’t reply. Lucifer raises a hand and brushes his knuckles over Sam’s cheek in a twisted caress that makes Sam’s stomach turn and his skin explode in goose bumps. 

“I will cure your brother if you say yes. Your body for his life. I’ll even throw in a ‘Not harming him’ clause, if that’ll make it easier.”

“Him and Castiel. They’re both off limits.”

Sam’s willingness seems to surprise the fallen angel since he takes a step back, blinking back at him. “You’d actually trade your life for Dean’s, even if Dean would live in a world that has me walking in it with my one true vessel?”

This is it, Sam realizes. The point of no return. But it’s not really a choice, is it? He can’t kill his brother and he can’t damn him to an eternity of doing first Crowley’s bidding, then Lucifer’s as soon as the last seal breaks. Dean will be restored, with Cas at his side, and Gabriel’s still there so they have a fighting chance of taking Lucifer down. After all Sam has done wrong in his life, this merely seems like one more thing, one more crime. He will never be remembered as a force of good in this world, may as well make it count and protect his brother like Dean has done it all his life. 

“Yes. You make Dean human again and never, ever touch him or Castiel, and you get a free ride.” Sam’s voice isn’t shaking. He is perfectly calm, a dull sense of finality hanging over him. 

Lucifer holds out his hand. “You’ll need to juice up on demon blood before we’ll complete it. Don’t think you can trick me out of a vessel, Sam. When you’ve done that, I’ll come to you, make Dean human and take my price.”

“You’ll come to me?” Sam echoes, confused. As if on cue, the ground of the dungeon starts to shake, almost throwing him off balance. 

Lucifer spreads his arms, grinning at the ceiling. “You really thought I wouldn’t feel the Prophet rise and the seals break?” He barks out a laugh, then offers his hand again. “Take the deal now, Sammy, or once I’m on earth again I’ll take your brother under my wing and make him my second. He’d do a marvelous job, what d’you think?”

The shaking is getting stronger now and Sam looks around to meet Death’s gaze. “As soon as we’re done, take me back to Detroit.”

A slight nod and another laugh, shriller this time, sounds from Lucifer. “Detroit? Dean’s in Detroit?”

Sam’s jaw tightens. “Yes. We doing this or what?”

“With pleasure,” comes the answer and then the devil shakes his hand, firm and powerful. 

The last thing Sam sees is Lucifer’s satisfied smirk before Death pulls him back out. 

*

Sam comes to on the floor of room 309, finding both Dean’s and Cas’ eyes fixed on him, one hopeful, one afraid. 

“Did it work?” Cas urges him, helping him to his feet. 

“Yes. He’s gonna do it.”

“Damn it, Sammy! You can’t fucking do this!” Dean shouts, trying to get out of the confines of his devil’s trap but to no avail. 

“I believe this is the moment you do as you promised and unbind me,” Death drawls, looking at him expectantly. 

Sam nods, speaks the counter incantation and offers the horseman’s Ring to him, his palm upturned. “Thank you.”

“The man who sealed earth’s fate should not thank me for enabling him to do so.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Oh, you will be, Sam Winchester,” Death murmurs, more to himself than to anyone in the room. “You will be.”

He leaves without another comment. No piece of advice, no warning to Dean, not even a jab at Cas. Sam feels hollow in the wake of his departure. 

“What now?” Cas’ question pulls him back into reality. 

“We’ll have to ward the room. I don’t want Gabriel messing this up, or any other angel for that matter. Then I’ll need to get some demon blood.”

The room goes quiet. Then Dean explodes. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Sam! What the fuck are you thinking! What gives you the right to fuck up the world like that? Ain’t it enough that some gang’s breaking seals, now you need to hand Lucifer the key to the kingdom?!” 

“What did you do, Sam?” Cas’ voice is barely audible. 

“My body for Dean’s humanity. Plus you’re both on his no-hit list.”

“You stupid son of a bitch!” Dean cusses, pacing as much as his confines allow. 

Castiel merely squares his shoulders, his eyes filled with gratitude despite the worried crease of his brows. 

Sam gets it. He feels the same emotions battling inside his chest. 

*

While they are warding the room, Dean’s state worsens. He paces more and more, hisses when they pass him by. His eyes are a constant black now and he clearly is in pain. It’s incredibly hard to ignore him and it’s even harder to say his goodbye to his brother when he isn’t even Dean anymore. 

“When I come back, all will be fine,” he promises, trying to smother the burning in his eyes. 

Cas and he go about the following hunt in silence. Years of practice have taught Sam where to find demons in any city and Detroit is no different. They take down five, drain them, fill canisters with blood. He hands Cas the keys for the drive back and opens the first one while the voice from the radio goes on and on about tornadoes and earthquakes, tsunamis and storms. 

It’s been so long since he drank even one drop but it’s still calling to him, red and thick. He catches Cas’ eye for a moment, then brings the container to his lips. It doesn’t taste like nectar anymore as it did at the height of his addiction. It’s vile and nauseating but Sam keeps going until they are back at the Morningstar Motel. Only now does Sam take in its name and he laughs harshly at the irony. 

Cas helps carry the rest of the blood in through the back door to avoid suspicion. Sam sits down at the chair facing the beds, his eyes constantly on Dean while he drains ounce after ounce. 

Dean’s not Dean anymore. Would probably stay like this for weeks at a time, unaware of right and wrong, just feeding the Mark. He’d probably slay Sam or Cas without a second’s doubt. 

Sam looses track of time but the moment he sets down the last container, empty now, there is a knock at the door. 

“Room service!” sounds Lucifer’s voice through the door, cheerful and light. 

Both Sam and Castiel freeze. It all suddenly becomes so real. 

“Ah, Castiel,” Lucifer greets him when the former angel opens the door after disrupting the warding. Not that it would have made much difference if he hadn’t, probably. “The grapevine told me you got cozy with what would have been my best general.”

“We’re not here to chat,” Sam snaps, taking a deep breath in a losing battle to calm himself down. Panic is setting in now, but he wouldn’t back out of the deal even if he could. They have gone through every option and Lucifer is their only chance. Period. 

“No, we’re not,” Lucifer murmurs as he takes in Dean’s demeanor. Where in the cage his skin was smooth and unmarred, only few moments on earth have left their trace behind. Sam’s eyes are drawn to the red splotches where the muscle is visible. The vessel is failing. 

“You know, I’m feeling generous,” the devil announces. “I’ll cure Dean first and grant him one last tearful moment with his brother before I take what’s mine.”

“And then you’ll go and leave both Dean and Cas alone,” Sam reiterates, just to make sure. 

“That is the plan,” Lucifer agrees, waits another second as if daring anyone to stop him. When no one speaks up, he steps towards Dean who has gone quiet and drops on one knee when Lucifer approaches. 

“You’d be a nice asset, Dean Winchester, but I’m afraid our partnership won’t come to pass.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat as Lucifer extends a hand and touches the Mark, which is glowing crimson. It seems to pulse and Dean cries out in pain, yet a moment later, the Mark seems to be sucked right off his skin and into Lucifer’s body, leaving Dean gasping. He falls forward and catches himself on his elbows where he remains for a few seconds until his breath isn’t as ragged anymore. 

When he looks up, his eyes are green and Sam almost collapses from the joy of seeing them like this. 

“Dean,” he breathes, waiting for his brother to react. 

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice is raw and thick, a veil of guilt and tears shrouding his eyes as he glances down his body, taking in the bloodied shirt. 

“You’re alright, Dean,” Sam assures him. “The Mark’s gone; you’re save.”

Sam advances slowly until he is right in front of his brother, close enough to reach out and pull him into a hug – _our last hug_ , a voice inside his head whispers viciously. Dean shudders against his chest and then he starts sobbing, sounding utterly broken and all Sam can do is grip him tighter. 

“I don’t wanna spoil the fun,” Lucifer interrupts, “but could we hurry this up?”

Dean tenses in Sam’s arms as if he only just realized who’s in the room with them. He draws back enough to look Sam straight in the eyes. 

“What have you done, Sammy?”

“What I had to.”

“You should have killed me like I asked you to.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“So instead you’re letting the devil loose?”

“The seals were being broken anyway –“

“What, like that makes it somehow okay?!”

“No, just, fuck, Dean,” Sam groans, “can we not fight now? I couldn’t kill you. I couldn’t let you become a monster. Only Lucifer can remove the Mark.”

“Sounds so easy, doesn’t it, huh?” Dean murmurs, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “Don’t think I’m not really fuckin’ pissed right now.”

“It’s fine.”

To their right, Lucifer groans, clearly annoyed. “Guys! Please!”

Sam pulls Dean into one last hug and this time, neither of them seems to want to let go but they have to eventually. When Dean steps back, there are new tears in his eyes. 

Meanwhile, Sam looks at Cas. “Thanks. Look out for each other, will you?” 

Cas is incredibly tense, eyes darting towards Dean every few seconds and his jaw clenched so firmly that it has to be hurting by now, but he nods solemnly. 

Then, inhaling deeply and reminding himself that Dean is fine and well and safe from harm, Sam says, “Yes”. Lucifer smiles at him, closes his eyes and the entire room is flooded with light. 

_To be continued…_

*

_It's my own design_  
 _It's my own remorse_  
 _Help me to decide_  
 _Help me make the_

_Most of freedom and of pleasure_  
 _Nothing ever lasts forever_  
 _Everybody wants to rule the world_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t murder me in my sleep! *hides-behind-a-rock* This was always going to be the “mid season catastrophe” and I really hope you don’t hate me now. Remember my disclaimer about happy endings. 
> 
> Also, the idea for Sam going to Lucifer because of the Mark was inspired by [this tumblr post](http://supernaturalapocalypse.tumblr.com/post/86566827317/want-to-hear-an-end-verse-theory). 
> 
> So…. Thoughts? Do you hate me? Should I get a bodyguard?
> 
> [next update: within the next two weeks!]


	16. Episode 15 - Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is walking the earth. Naturally, chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A late Happy Halloween, y'all! I’m still alive and you are all still here – thank you for that :) So yes, I’m going with a variation of end!verse theory and it is going to be so much fun…

**Southside, Chicago**

The world might have gone a bit wacky yesterday, though that doesn’t mean life is over – or at least that’s what Jamie Akachi thought when he got up this morning. 

He’s always out of the house before his folks wake up (reduced risk of being yelled at or getting beer bottles thrown at one’s head that way) and today is no different. He’s got a few, uh, deliveries to make for the Caretti family (and isn’t it just ridiculous that the most violent gang around here has an Italian surname? Too bad only Jamie seems to see the irony), so he’s on his way to his first client. 

Jamie may only be 18 (and barely that), but he’s tall and built thanks to two stints in juvie and his cousin’s gym for which he sometimes plays security. Oh, also he’s black, which adds to the threatening image he cuts, even though that’s a bit racist of him. On the Southside, it doesn’t really matter what color one’s skin is – everyone can wield a gun here. And if it’s not a gun, then it’s a baseball bat. 

Jamie prefers baseball bats for his clients (less risk of accidentally shooting them), but he carries one, always. 

Good thing, too, in case one of the neighborhood kids decides to prove themselves to their friends. Thanks to his gun (the only useful thing his parents ever gave him), he’s only got a few scars instead of more. 

There’s a tension in the air when Jamie makes his way back home to store his bat and get his backpack for school. Yes, he’s one of the few kids around here who actually takes his schooling seriously. He’s not the brightest bulb in the lot, but he’s trying and he’s gonna get his diploma, come fire or brimstone. 

Well. It’s not fire or brimstone, but tornados and earthquakes and storms and heavy rain all across the globe if you believe the news (which his parents don’t, but Jamie does). Anyway, there’s tension. Chicago hasn’t been hit with anything yet but it’s probably only just a matter of time and then it’ll be hell on the streets. It’s already hell on the streets but then it’ll be survival-of-the-fittest kind of hell on the streets. 

Jamie shakes his head. All these things are giving him a headache. 

Instead of easing off, though, like headaches are supposed to do, this one gets worse until Jamie’s breathing hard and has to grab onto the nearest wall to steady himself. 

He squeezes his eyes shut but then he’s starting to see weird symbols and it burns and it hurts, damn it, what the fuck is going on he hasn’t eaten anything bad he hasn’t taken anything why is he hallucinating – 

There’s a white light, bright enough to pierce through his closed eyelids. Jamie blinks, his hand jerking instinctively towards his gun. 

There’s a dude standing in front of him. How didn’t he hear him approach? That’s the way to being gunned down in broad daylight, seriously. He needs to get a handle on this situation. 

He draws the gun – medium height, light hair, clearly never seen the inside of a gym - when it seems like the guy’s happy just standing there, grinning at him like a cat that’s got the canary. Jamie doesn’t like that look at all. 

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Easy there, tiger,” the guy says, holding up his hands. “I’m here to get you.”

“You from child protective services or what?”

For some reason he finds that amusing and snorts. “Nope. I’m an archangel. Your archangel – okay, the only archangel left upstairs now that Mike’s all crazy and flying around earth looking for Luci – but anyway, you’re stuck with me, kiddo.” 

“What the hell are you on, man?” 

Suddenly, the ground gives a jolt and Jamie almost falls but he regains his balance pretty quick. His head’s still killing him. 

“Okay, listen, I’d give you the whole lecture about angels and the word of God but we’ve got limited time and I need to get your ass to heaven before Luci’s troops get here, capiche?”

 _Maybe the guy has a psychotic thing? Some sort of delusion?_ Jamie wonders as he tightens the grip on his gun. 

“Start talking sense or I’m walking away,” he growls and the guy has the balls to actually take a step forward. “One more step and I’ll shoot!”

The man doesn’t listen. One step, then another. Jamie releases his breath and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the man in the leg, should incapacitate him for a bit so Jamie takes off running. He knows the neighborhood, has been running from folks for years now. 

He goes as fast as he can despite the pounding headache and turns a corner – only to stumble back when the same freaking guy is right in front of him. 

“What the hell?”

“Archangel, hello!” the guy say, waving a hand at his leg, which is – _what_ – completely bullet wound free. “Now come on, we gotta get you to safety.”

Just then there’s a noise behind Jamie, sounding like someone accidentally stepped on shards of glass, and he’s spun around and aimed his shot before he can actively think. 

Yeah, well. He might be a bit trigger happy. It’s not a bad thing on the Southside, so sue him. 

Okay, scratch that. It wouldn’t be a bad thing – if the victim actually went down but the lady that’s standing there, pretty hot actually with auburn hair and pretty eyes, just keeps walking even though she’s got a bullet hole in her forehead. 

“Sorry,” the man behind him says, “we got him first.”

Then there’s a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and a tingling sensation runs through his entire body and before he knows what’s happening he’s in a totally different place. There’s desks and people buzzing around and light walls and the whole room is flooded with sunlight even though there are no windows. 

Jamie gapes. 

“Welcome to Heaven, kiddo.”

*

*

“A prophet?”

“Yup.”

“A prophet of the Lord?”

The man, who’s introduced himself as Gabriel ( _the_ Gabriel, the one Jamie learnt about in school a while back) nods. 

“Why me? Why now?”

“No idea why you, that’s all Daddy’s domain. Now ‘cause the last prophet died –“

Jamie’s eyes must have widened in horror for the guy immediately back paddles. 

“- not violently! He chose to die, y’see he was actually a ghost before ‘cause Heaven was closed but now it’s open again but so’s Lucifer’s cage, which is why we’re in this freakin’ mess to begin with and need another prophet apparently. And that’s you.”

“Well, I ain’t even going to church, like, _at all_ , so your Dad must’ve really screwed up this selection process of his.”

“Believe me, I stopped reflecting on His criteria for chosen ones a looooong time ago,” Gabriel drawls with an eye roll. “I just go with it. ‘It’ being you, right now, and once you’re sorted, I gotta deal with the dickbags who started this thing.”

“The devil?” Jamie asks, but he’s still not entirely sold that he’s actually not hallucinating things. Because, really – God is real and it’s the apocalypse and God chose a poor, criminal black kid from the Southside to be his prophet? That sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. 

“Nope, two very stupid and very resistant humans who should have been dead ten times over – oh, and another one of my brothers who’s discovered free will, almost ended the world, became human and fell in love with one of them.”

“Okay…”

“Right! So! This is Hannah.” Gabriel points to a woman in pullover and jacket over a shirt who is smiling kindly at him. “She’s gonna give you a short tour, show you to your room and then we’ll see what kind of prophet you are, alright?”

“What kind of prophet I am? There’s more than one kind?”

“Yup – you might get visions of the future or you’re able to read the Word of God or write down the Word of God… We’ll see. I’m gonna tear Team Free Will a new one in the meantime,” he grouses. 

Jamie has no idea who this “Cas” is but he’s already feeling sorry for the guy. 

“Please follow me,” Hannah requests, waiting patiently for him to get to his feet and looking completely unperturbed by his obvious distrust. 

But he’s got no choice, so he follows the lady out of the room. To get a tour of Heaven. Yeah, sure.

*

**Detroit, Morningstar Hotel – The day before**

Castiel’s heart clenches as he watches Dean break down once Sam is gone. Of course Dean will blame himself for everything – the torture, the mayhem, the killing, the bloodshed he instigated as a demon as well as the fact that Lucifer is now walking the earth in his perfect vessel. 

Castiel knows he should regret this, but when he pulls Dean close the hunter lets him, buries his face in Castiel’s chest and sobs into his shirt and Castiel cannot for the life of him regret aiding Sam in getting Dean back. 

When there are no more mournful tremors shaking Dean’s shoulders, Castiel, moves his hand to the sides of Dean’s face, still covered in the stubble he accumulated in the past two weeks, and presses a soft kiss into his hair. 

The older brother shudders at the sensation and tries to escape, but Castiel anticipated his move and instead captures his lips in an equally chaste kiss. It suffices to show Dean that Castiel will not walk away now, that he is still here, at his side, no matter what. 

Dean releases a shaky breath and finally opens his eyes, once again vibrant green, pure yet overshadowed with guilt. 

“We should get to the bunker,” Castiel suggests. “Regroup.”

A nod, though no comment. Castiel prays for Haschmal who is with them a second later, his sudden appearance making Dean flinch. Yet he doesn’t fuzz when Haschmal teleports them to the bunker’s entrance and returns to the Host in order to help with emergency planning. 

The flutter of wings is followed by a rustling to their right but before Castiel can do more than let his weapon fall into his hand, Dean has the intruder slammed against the bunker door, the first blade against his throat. 

“Crowley,” Dean growls with enough venom in his voice to poison a lesser man. “You got some nerve showing your mug.”

“It’s not like I have that many alternatives,” Crowley begins but his breath hitches when he really takes Dean in. Castiel cannot see Dean’s true form anymore but it undoubtedly is back to its pure, brilliant state. Crowley’s eyes widen, first in shock, then in horror when they fall to Dean’s arm. Even while it is covered by a flannel it is obvious that there is no Mark glowing underneath it. 

“What have you done?” Crowley hisses. “Where’s moose? What bloody mess have you gotten yourselves into now? Explain!”

“You ain’t got the right to order me ‘round anymore,” Dean snaps, though before he can do anything else he is stumbling back, probably from a bout of telekinetic energy for a moment later, Crowley is the one who had Dean pressed against the wall. 

Castiel has closed the distance in an instance, one arm across Crowley’s chest from behind, yanking him back, the other with his angel blade against his throat. 

“Oh, Cas, I always knew you were a kinky bastard,” Crowley sneers but Castiel doesn’t have time for jokes. 

“Let him go, Crowley. We can talk about this inside.”

“No way in hell we’re letting him in!” Dean protests but Castiel has other plans. 

“He’ll owe us. We might need him. He’ll be no use to us chained to a rack in Hell.”

“Yeah and a rack would be bloody merciful,” the former King of Hell grumbles into his unimpressive beard. 

“Fine!” Dean eventually agrees. 

Once inside the bunker, the hunter immediately makes a beeline for the liquor cabinet. He takes one swing out of the cheap rum bottle before flinging it against the room with a roar of fury and frustration. It shatters, amber liquid and glass shards spilling on the floor. Castiel’s heart aches for something to do to make Dean feel better, but his mind is blank. 

Crowley’s, meanwhile, seems to be working twice as fast as usual. Castiel sees his eyes raking over Dean, then Castiel, then around the bunker as if waiting for Sam to appear. 

As his attention returns to the missing Mark, it visibly clicks. Castiel intuitively steps between Crowley and Dean as the former lunges at his former employee. 

“YOU DAFT WANKERS!” Crowley roars. “You’re not actually telling me that you bloody traded moose for the Mark, are you?! Do you have any idea what mess you caused? Fucking, short-sighted tossers! And you,” Crowley adds, raising an accusing finger at Castiel. “You bloody went along with it! What, almost ending the world once left you unfulfilled so you decided to scratch that itch again?”

“What’s going on!” echoes a female shout before Castiel has a chance to defend their choices. Alexandra Kahr is standing in the doorway to the map room, the demon killing knife at the ready. 

“What happened to your eye?” Dean asks, drawing everyone’s attention to the dark bruise blooming on the left side of the woman’s face. 

“Sam,” she spits out. “Where is the idiot?”

Castiel would have been all too glad to leave her question unanswered, yet Crowley is still seething and speaks. 

“Oh, moose’s playing prom dress for the devil, haven’t you heard? That shade of dumb is what everyone’s wearing this summer.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“For some unfathomable reason defying all logic, our resident wankers here decided not to kill their co-wanker when he went over the edge but rather traded his humanity for Sam’s consent as Lucifer’s vessel, meaning that we’re now all utterly doomed and destined to be Satan’s little chew toy.”

“Nope, that’s just you, Crowley,” Dean hisses, “’cause you were stupid enough to betray him a few years back and seize his throne.”

“It was a power vacuum, someone had to step up –“

“So you’re saying,” Alex interrupts, her tone even managing to silence Crowley, “that not only did we fail at stopping the seals from being broken but also that we’re one hunter short and the devil’s one vessel richer.”

No one answers her since it is all rather obvious. 

“To recap,” Alex continues, “so that we’re all clear how great our prospects are – Lucifer is walking the earth, already in possession of a demon army since the King of Hell is cowardly cowering behind us – “ Crowley opens his mouth to protest but Alex ignores him, “and if that weren’t enough, he also has the False Prophet at his side who’s probably raising the Beast of the Sea as we speak.”

“What do you mean, the False Prophet?” Crowley’s voice betrays a hint of fear. 

“Oh, didn’t anyone tell you?” Alex asks, tone rich with false regret. “In Vegas Sam and I found out that the Prophet had to be in the game; otherwise breaking the tablets of Moses wouldn’t have worked as seals.”

It is fascinating to watch Crowley’s face drain of its entire color as his eyes widen. 

“What? What do you know, Crowley?” Castiel holds his breath as he waits for the demon to answer; yet when he does, he is trembling with rage. 

“That utter git! Back-stabbing, ungrateful –“

“Who?” Castiel asks again, this time taking a step in Crowley’s direction. 

He can see slivers of emotions and thoughts flicker across the man’s face until it settles into something akin to stubborn defiance. 

“My son.”

“How?” Castiel growls. Alexandra looks as confused as he is feeling. Crowley’s son has been dead for several centuries now. How does he feature into all of this?

“You mean Gavin had something to do with this?” Dean hisses. “The kid you were supposed to send back to his time so that he could drown on his way to America, but that you saved?”

“Yes, that bloody kid!” Crowley shouts back, then huffs as if to compose himself again. “He came to me a few weeks ago, begging for protection. I gave him a hellhound.” Silence. “What was I supposed to do? He’s my son!”

“And now he’s the False Prophet!” Alex snaps. “Well done!”

“What’s the hellhound got to do with it?” Dean raises an eyebrow at the huntress. 

“It’s a ritual; to activate the Prophet. Blood of a Griffin, blood of a hellhound, blood of, well, it translates to ‘paragon of innocence’, so some special sort of child.”

“I didn’t know that!” Crowley protests, earning him a “Shut up” from Dean, though apparently the demon is in the mood to argue. “Oh, come off your high horse, squirrel! You’re just as guilty in this! That’s two apocalypses you started, how’s that feel, eh?”

Something in Castiel snaps and one moment later, he has Crowley pressed face-first onto the map table, pushing the angel blade just enough into his back to hurt. 

“Listen, assbutt,” he growls. The sound of his own voice should scare him but he cannot think given that the burning fury licking at his insides is consuming his thoughts. “The seals were breaking long before Sam ever made that deal. You failed, Crowley. You, the King of Hell, who should have noticed since it was _your minions_ who started this! So don’t you dare pin anything on Dean!”

“Alright, easy, calm down,” Dean intervenes, placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and pulling him back. His hands stay there, the thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his skin through too many layers of fabric. “This ain’t getting us nowhere. We gotta find a way to stop this, alright? We’ve been cleaning up messes for years; this ain’t no different.”

There are so many things Castiel could say to that, so many objections he could raise, obstacles he could point out. He doesn’t. Dean is right – no matter how bleak it looks, the Winchesters have always found a way. 

“Fine,” Alex grits out and Crowley nods in assent. 

“Good. But we’re ordering pizza. And pie. I’m freakin’ starving,” Dean decides, moving away from Castiel to make the call. 

*

Dean uses the time it takes for the pizza to arrive to wash off the grime and blood caking his skin and he changes into clean clothes while Castiel and Alexandra are searching the library for anything useful. Crowley is pacing, obviously miles away with his thoughts. 

They gather in the library around a single table and eat in silence, a silence that does not vanish as soon as they are all finished. It takes several minutes, but eventually the female speaks up. 

“So many ideas, impressive.” 

Dean chuckles humorlessly. “You got that right.”

“Last time you threw Lucifer and Michael back into the cage, at least that’s what I’ve heard. Why can’t we try that now?”

Dean rubs a hand over his face, heaving a sigh. “For one, that only worked ‘cause Sammy managed to gain control. Won’t happen now ‘cause he made a deal – if he tries anything, Lucifer’s just gonna make him suffer or go back on his word and kill us after all. For another, we need the horsemen’s rings to pull that off and honey, we ain’t got them.”

“Which is missing?”

“Death’s.” Alexandra lights up at Dean’s response and opens her mouth, presumably to suggest summoning Death and asking him for it, but Dean doesn’t let her start. “Nope. Not gonna happen. Sam bound Death and used the ring we forgot to give back. The old man hates being bound so he sure as hell won’t do us any more favors.” Dean presses the heels of his palm into his eyes with a groan. “Even if he came, he’d probably just tell us he ain’t there to clean up after us.”

The huntress grumbles, shaking a lock of dark hair out of her face. “Okay, I get it. No point to mope because Daddy’s had enough of your antics.”

Dean glares at her, though Castiel barely manages to stifle a chuckle. Only Dean Winchester would find a father figure in Death. 

“What about the chief Marauder?” Crowley suggests and the reference tickles something in Castiel’s mind. He knows this – “Your brother, darlin’?” Crowley explains before Castiel can find the solution on his own.

“Being an archangel, Gabriel can theoretically kill Lucifer. However he has tried in the past and failed. Lucifer is considerably stronger than him, and,” Castiel proceeds with glee at being able to throw the reference back at the demon, “if Gabriel is the chief Marauder, Lucifer is the one who taught him how to court mischief. He won’t fool him.”

“Also, Heaven needs him,” Alex adds. “They need a leader and I doubt Gabriel would take the risk, unless he has no other options.”

“But what other options are there?” Dean asks, his voice betraying a hint of fear. “The blade don’t work anymore, we know that the colt’s a bust, anyone else using Gabriel’s blade’s just gonna get vaporized before they’re in striking distance and Death’s not gonna do jack shit for us!”

“There has to be a way,” Castiel replies, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible despite how much he agrees with Dean’s assessment. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Maybe Gabriel knows something?” Alex wonders out loud. 

“He might,” Castiel can’t but agree, “yet he will be too busy in Heaven to come down right away. He will visit as soon as he can, certainly.”

“When he does, Heaven could coordinate with the other hunters – see where people need help the most and see to establish a network to help where it’s needed. I got their contacts.”

Castiel nods with a surprised smile. 

“I’ll get on it right away. You two,” she points at Dean and Castiel, “look ready to drop. You should probably get some sleep.”

“I can help –“ Dean tries, though Castiel won’t hear of it. 

“No, Dean. She’s right. We’ll need our energy.”

For a second Dean seems like he might want to argue, but he acquiesces a mment later. 

*

Inside his bedroom – or rather _their_ bedroom, Castiel muses – Dean gazes at him in wonder.

“You, uh,” he stammers and Castiel is immediately in front of him, stepping right inside his personal space. 

“Yes, Dean. I’m not leaving.”

Castiel tries not to reflect on Dean’s psyche too much since whenever he actually does, he ends up yearning to go back in time and smite every single person who ever abandoned Dean or made him feel like anything less than the strong, brilliant man that he is. 

Now, however, it is hard not to see the immense relief even out Dean’s features and relax his muscles. Maybe that is why Castiel feels compelled to go on, to really make his point clear. 

“I’m yours, Dean,” he whispers. “I’ve been yours for a long time now.”

“Despite everything I’ve done?”

“ _Because_ of everything you’ve done,” is Castiel’s comeback and the hunter’s brows furrow. “Dean – you tend to only see the wrong you have done, the alleged mistakes you made, but you forget that you are human and, more importantly, how often you have saved this world. You are one of the proverbial good guys.”

“How can you say that after all I’ve done?”

“That was the Mark, Dean. That situation was beyond your control.”

Dean snorts. “Sounds like a cheap excuse.”

“It’s not. Do you have any idea how much strength it took to withstand it for so long? How brave you were to put yourself into that devil’s trap? To call me?” Castiel cannot hold back any longer. He raises his hand and cradles Dean’s face in his palm. Rather than flinch away he leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Before I became human, I saw your true form and it was… well, to be honest it was beautiful, though I fear you might object to that particular designation.”

Dean huffs a laugh and steps closer, placing his hands on Castiel’s hips. 

“But it was. Beautiful, that is. It was obviously a demon, yet underneath it was still your soul that broke through the cracks. Not even the Mark of Cain could take your goodness away from you, Dean, and even less could convince me to leave.”

He finally feels like he has said enough. He kisses Dean’s forehead since he cannot reach his lips because the hunter’s head is bowed and he listens as Dean lets out a shaky breath. When he looks up shortly afterwards, his eyes are so open that Castiel doubts he will ever be able to tear his own away. He ignores the wet gleam and instead leans in, his heart fluttering when Dean mirrors him, thus closing the distance between their lips. 

Castiel has no words for what follows. It is slow, sensual and so intimate that any description would not be able to encompass the sensations. Castiel thinks this is why humans call it ‘making love’ sometimes, but even that classification is lacking. 

When they are writhing against each other, unhurried and interrupting the rhythm with open-mouthed kisses, Castiel gives up his attempt to find words and looses himself in Dean, who seems to be everywhere around him. 

They both find release too soon though bask in the afterglow. Castiel drapes himself across Dean’s chest, tracing the outline of his anti-possession tattoo with his fingertips while Dean’s hand is stroking his hair. 

For that night, by unspoken agreement, they both forget about the apocalypse, about deals with the Devil and unwanted fugitives in the bunker. For that night, they simply are Dean and Castiel, and Castiel never wants it to end. 

*

Gabriel is having rather vivid phantasies about exactly how he will punish the Winchesters and his newly human brother when Hannah’s distressed call comes in via angel radio. 

He blinks out of and into existence and within seconds is taking in the situation – Jamie on the floor, clutching his head with Hannah and several other angels looking on with worry. 

“What happened?”

“He just collapsed,” Hannah stammers, clearly at a loss at what to do. 

Well, it’s not every day a prophet’s collapsing in front of you with a vision. At least that’s what it looks like. Gabriel kneels down next to the kid and grips his shoulder. Maybe an anchor to tether him to this plane will help. 

Suddenly the convulsing stops as Jamie stills, drawing a shaky breath. 

“Welcome back, kiddo.” Gabriel hopes his tone is soothing despite his curiosity that compels him to just shake the prophet and learn what’s going on. 

Jamie stares at him for a long moment, then blinks and takes in his surroundings – noting the doors and exits, Gabriel realizes quickly. Seriously, what kind of neighborhood does this boy come from? 

“I saw something.” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“What did you see?”

“Two men, fighting – but they weren’t really men, ‘cause they were flying and using some weird sci-fi shit and pushing each other back without really touching. There was water…. That one guy threw the other one into the ocean and he didn’t come up again… and then there was a flood, but I only saw the wave and what the fuck is going with me?!”

The last bit is shouted at the top of his voice and Gabriel instinctively leans back in case the kid decides to lash out. 

“That, my dear prophet, was your first vision. Now tell me – what did the men look like?”

“Vision? You mean your God’s giving them to me? Why can’t he just tell you himself, that shit hurt!”

“Mysterious ways, compadre…”

“In what world am I latino?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes at Jamie’s petulant expression. “I really don’t care about where your parents or grandparents are from, kid – what did these men look like?”

Jamie glares but answers his question nonetheless. Finally. “The one was really tall, white suit, looked kinda douchy. The other was closer to my age, blond hair, I don’t know, all I got were flashes.”

Gabriel sighs, allowing himself to briefly cradle his face in his hands. _Splendid. Just awesome. Thanks, Dad, for the heads-up…_

“You know where this happens? You said something about the ocean?”

“Yeah, somewhere south of San Francisco, at the coast. There was some kind of church…”

“Alright, great.” Gabriel looks up to catch Hannah’s eye. “Now Hannah here’s gonna see to you and make sure you’re alright and I’m gonna, well. Confer with the Winchesters, as horrifying as it sounds. The world is doomed…” he mutters, more to himself than to the others in his vicinity. ‘course the kid hears him and looks terrified until Hannah assures him that Gabriel didn’t mean it like that, but by then, Gabriel’s already halfway out the room. 

*

He pounds against the bunker door until Alex Kahr lets him in. Gabriel forgoes the stairs in his urgency, teleporting right into the library where he senses Castiel and is ready to deliver the lecture of the century on effective counter-apocalypse methods until he stops short when he sees - 

Dean. Not that he’s any different on the outside, but Gabriel has become used to the enormous black hole that his true form has evolved into. Which is gone. Absent. No trace of demonic components. Just pure white human soul. 

“What. Did. You. Do,” he grits out, first fixing Dean, then Castiel with a glare before he turns on his heels, on the lookout for the bigger Winchester. Who is nowhere to be found, yet Crowley twitches in a corner where he’s inspecting the books on the shelf. “Where’s Sam?”

No one says anything and Gabriel’s mind fills the silence with thoughts – thoughts about what needed to have happened for Dean to go back to human and by the time he has come to the only possible explanation for all the clues he’s getting, the shelves are trembling from his rage. 

“You giant bag of DICKS!” he bellows. “Tell me Sam did not trade in his consent against Dean’s cure!”

Silence. Not that he expected an answer. Castiel’s jaw is set in defiance – ‘cause of course his love-sick brother was on board with that fuck-up of a plan – and Dean’s pretending to read the book in front of him (and what the hell happened to make Dean research voluntarily? Oh, right – the apocalypse!)

Later Gabriel will only recall half the insults he flung at the remnants of Team Free Will, but he was incredibly creative. Everyone looks sufficiently chastised and Gabriel would love to do more, but they have more pressing shit to deal with so he gulps in a breath and tries to rein in his anger. 

“Okay, now that I’ve ripped y’all a new one, let me get to the point that actually brought me here –“

“What, our ass-whipping didn’t warrant a trip on its own?”

“Believe me, Dean-o, it would have but I’m a multitasker, so shush. We got a new prophet, activated this morning in Chicago. He’s already in Heaven and safe, but he had a vision.”

“What did he see?” Castiel asks, speaking up for the first time. Only now does Gabriel notice how close he is sitting to Dean. Ugh, they’re probably holding hands underneath the table like the saps they are. 

“Lucifer and Michael, fighting somewhere south of San Fran, and there’ll be a big fuckin’ flood in the aftermath ‘cause apparently good ol’ Luci’s gonna smite Michael’s feathery ass into the Pacific Ocean.”

“Oh,” is all Dean says. 

“Yes, ‘oh’. Cassie, I hope he’s a good lay ‘cause he’s not gonna win a literary award any time soon…”

“He is,” Castiel snaps back and for a moment, Gabriel does nothing but raise an eyebrow at his brother’s defensiveness. 

Dean clears his throat. “Not the issue here, though thanks, Cas.”

“I only stated a fact –“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, world’s ending so you’re fucking like bunnies, no need to scar me for life. Let’s go!”

“What can we do?” Alex butts in. “We’re no match for the devil and Michael.”

“Nope, but who knows what else is going on and maybe some innocent bystanders will need your help, so shut up and speed this up.”

Within sixty seconds, the hunters and Castiel are ready to go. They ignore Crowley who is trying to melt into the bookshelves without success, but Gabriel has no second to spare for the coward to tell him that. 

*

**Somewhere south of San Francisco**

It’s impressive; Dean’s got no other word for it. It’s what he always imagined the fights in those Harry Potter books to look like – which he only read ‘cause Sammy was obsessed with them for years on end – only without the colorful jets of light. 

Michael is still in Adam’s vessel and doesn’t that just hurt that his youngest brother’s still involved in this shit. Sam doesn’t look like Sam at all. Dean remembers what is was like watching Lucifer in his brother’s body, the way his presence eclipsed all resemblance to Sam. He isn’t trying to play the role of the younger Winchester like Gadreel was, so spotting the difference is easy now. 

Another wave of emotions threatens to bury Dean whole so he pushes it aside, buries it in turn, deep within. He’s got no idea how to feel, let alone how to cope with this entire situation so he’s not gonna try now when he needs to be at the top of his game ‘cause even though the archangels are fighting at the Californian cost where the church isn’t standing anymore even though the ground’s still sacred, there’s still people around. Tourists, inhabitants, out to enjoy the sun after the storms and tornadoes and small earthquakes that scared them the day before. 

“Get back!” he yells at a group of teenagers, directing them to the road where there’s no risk of snapping trees hitting them over their heads. 

A cry echoes across the land, followed by a crash. Dean’s head snaps up and he sees Michael grinning down at where Lucifer hit the ground, denting the earth and stirring up dust and dirt. When he jumps to his feet, however, his suit is as pristine and white as before. 

Sam – no, _Lucifer_ , always Lucifer - looks around, glimpses Dean and then spies the others, aided by several angels as they try to get people to safety. 

“Watch it, Michael,” the devil sneers, “you’re scaring the locals.”

“That is entirely your doing,” Michael replies calmly, waiting for Lucifer’s next attack. 

It comes swiftly. Michael dodges, tries to retaliate but Lucifer evades it easily and then it is Michael who is falling right onto a rock. Dean swears he hears the sound of a snapping spine as the vessel’s bones break from the impact. 

Dean looses track then. He fails at calming down crying people but manages to reunite some kids with their parents before handing them off to some angel to teleport them out of the danger zone. Shit, the press is gonna have a blast with this. 

Thankfully there aren’t any helicopters anymore ever since Lucifer set the first one on fire with a thought and it crashed into the sea. 

He spares a glance for the archangels – their fight’s getting messier now. Their vessels are bleeding and Lucifer’s white suit is speckled with blood. They’re more frantic now but it hardly matters ‘cause Dean can’t see any civilians anymore, and those who wanted to stay and watch were forcibly removed by the angels. 

Michael and Lucifer are too fast now for any human eye to follow them so Dean has no idea who’s winning until suddenly, another cry sounds and then a figure is falling fast, down and down from great height until it makes contact with the Pacific Ocean far off the coast. 

Dean can feel the collision when it happens. It rattles his bones and the trees in the distance. The water is steaming but he has no idea why and the next thing he knows is that there’s a wave forming, spreading rapidly and building up in a large circle from where the archangel hit the water. 

_Cas._

The waterfront’s gonna hit the coast and Dean doubts Cas can swim – he’s gonna drown if Dean doesn’t find him – 

He’s suddenly somewhere else, at the other side of the beach and only catches one glimpse of Cas staring in awe at the wave coming towards them, doesn’t even get the chance to shout before he blinks out of existence and re-appears somewhere he recognizes immediately as the front door of the Bat Cave. 

“Wha –“ he stammers and spins around. Cas is there, safe, in one piece and Dean could have cried. 

“There, no harm, can you _please_ shut up,” someone grouses next to them and Dean looks up into Sam’s eyes. 

“Why’re you -?” he begins but his brother’s voice doesn’t let him finish.

“Since the second I smote Michael, poor little Sammy has been nagging be about ensuring your safety, seeing as it was part of the deal. So here you go. Safe, sound. Looking a little terrified. Your angel friends are probably all in Hawaii right now, trying to evacuate the island. At least it is smaller than Japan.”

“Japan, why Japan?” Dean’s head is spinning. 

“Look at a map when you’re inside, will you?” Lucifer sneers before brushing nonexistent dust off his suit jacket. “Until next time. Sammy says ‘hi’ and some variation of brotherly endearment.”

Then he’s gone. 

Dean half-collapses, a breath forcing its way out of him and he has to brace himself on his knees to stop himself from doubling over. 

Cas ain’t faring much better. Out of the corner of his eyes Dean sees him leaning back against the bunker door, eyes closed and breathing in steadily through his nose. 

Dean prays to Gabriel, but only to tell him where they are and to think of Japan, then pulls Cas into a bone-crushing hug. The former angel is shaking in his arms, his fingers digging into the skin of Dean’s back. 

Dean would have said something but before he can find the words, the bunker bursts open, revealing a spooked-looking Crowley. Dean refuses to let go of Cas, though, no matter how much the demon glares. 

“The machines downstairs are all acting wacky, and the alarm makes you want to cut your wrists, quite frankly. What the bloody hell is going on?”

“Not here,” is Dean’s gruff response and he pulls Cas with him, down the stairs and into the library where he manhandles him into his lap. 

Crowley remains standing and crosses his arms while raising an expectant eyebrow. 

“Lucifer killed Michael.” That gets another shiver from Cas and Crowley’s lips form a silent ‘oh’. “There’s a big fucking wave hitting California and heading for Hawaii, too.”

“So he cast him into the sea, just like that prophet said?”

Dean nods, tightening his hold on the former angel. “The Bible Squad’s evacuating, I think.”

“Then how come you’re here?”

He swallows thickly, wondering why the heck his throat’s so tight all of a sudden. “Lucifer. Sam’s other condition was that no harm would come to Cas and me. He brought us here, surely knows the location from Sam.”

“Bloody brilliant. Now I take it you’re not done with your spider monkey there, so can you at least tell me how I can switch off this buggering alarm?”

Dean does and after what sounds like several attempts and some trial and error, the blaring stops. Crowley doesn’t return and Dean’s glad for the privacy ‘cause now he can finally bury his face in Castiel’s mop of dark hair without feeling self-conscious. 

He has no idea how long it takes for Cas to sit back and meet his eyes again, the blue of his irises full of sorrow. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I got your shirt wet.”

“No problem, Cas. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Castiel sighs and Dean does his best not to wince when Cas digs his fingernails into Dean’s shoulders when he squeezes. “My brother just killed another brother. It is… so many emotions – how do you humans cope with this? It feels like I am drowning.”

“Guess you don’t have year’s worth of practice with don’t letting such things get to you too much.”

“That only leads to bottling it up. I have discovered that this has even worse consequences.”

Dean doesn’t know if it’s a jab at him and his state of mind but he ignores that, too. “It’ll pass, Cas. You wanna lie down?”

He shakes his head. “We should continue our research. Contact Alex if we can do anything from here. With Michael gone, Lucifer’s power will only intensify.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean quips, hoping to lighten the mood. He grins at Cas when he extricates himself from Dean’s lap and earns himself a blush in return. It ain’t much, but Dean’s gonna take all he can get. 

*

Gabriel remembers Alexandra Kahr moments before the wave hits the mainland, but somehow he didn’t end up with too stupid a cavalry and someone else has already brought her to safety. Thus Gabriel can focus on being the leader everyone thinks him to be. 

“Get on the phone; call the hunters in the area, tell them to evacuate and tell their neighbors and everyone they meet,” he orders and is incredibly grateful when Alexandra simply nods and retrieves her phone. Not every hunter has to argue with every order they’re not issuing themselves, apparently. 

He spends the next five minutes snapping orders at angels, sending several to Hawaii, the coastal regions of North America as well as the Caribbean and the rest to Japan (because unlike Dean Winchester, he knows what the world looks like and where a circular wave is likely to hit) and only stops to breathe when he’s done. 

A slow-clap startles him out of his exhaustion. 

“Impressive, little brother. You’ve grown up. I almost thought you would suggest the humans start building an Arch and then sit back to watch them scramble.”

“You confuse our levels of cruelty, _Luci_ ,” Gabriel replies, deliberately drawing out the nickname. He knows Lucifer hates it with a passion. 

Sure enough, he gets glared at. “You should be glad I’m not smiting you where you stand.”

“Yeah, I’m confused. Why don’t you? Seemed to enjoy it the last time.” He can’t help the growl in his tone. But seriously, sue him. So his death’s still a touchy subject, so what?

“Where would be the fun in that? You have yet to come up with a plan to defeat me, only to watch me thwart it with a snap of my fingers.”

Gabriel wishes he knew how to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his brother’s face but he does have a point. He could attack him right now but the risk is too big. He is needed on earth. The Heavenly Host won’t be able to protect humanity without a leader and Hannah is not ready to take over. No one knows humans like Gabriel does. He cannot risk death in an unsophisticated attempt at Lucifer’s life. 

“We shall meet again,” Lucifer says, nodding at him and Gabriel groans freely at the cheesy phrase. 

“Really? You need to can the clichéd villain lines, they don’t come across half as good when you’re wearing a Winchester.”

Lucifer doesn’t let himself be riled up, though. He keeps on smirking and is gone with a flutter of wings. Gabriel copies him a moment later but with a different destination. No rest for the wicked, nor for the good guys, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, my version of newly-human!Dean and the first stages of the apocalypse. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Some of you don’t or my bookmark count wouldn’t be decreasing instead of increasing…. *frowny-face*
> 
> Anyway, turns out human!Castiel can be a big sap… but he deserves it and Dean deserves to hear he’s not worthless and I have too many feels about this *gets-a-tissue-and-stops-babbling*


	17. Episode 16 - Welcome Committee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie’s plan was to help Dorothy save Oz, then kick back and relax for a bit back at the bunker. The Apocalypse, though? Not part of the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RL is crazy right now, but I finally managed to shovel free some writing-time! 
> 
> Also, guess what happened? **AlchemyIndex over at deviantart drew art for this fic**! This is the first time someone did something like that for a work of mine and words cannot express how thrilled I am and how much it means to me :) I included the first one in this chapter and there's already a second piece for chapter 9, isn't that awesome? You can check both out on deviantart [here](http://alchemyindex.deviantart.com/art/TheGoodFight-494332159) and [here](http://alchemyindex.deviantart.com/art/The-Good-Fight-Short-Bursts-494950769), and on [tumblr](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/post/102628940409/the-good-fight-by-alchemyindex-alchemyindex). Make sure to let them know how awesome it is!

*

*

“Welcome to the CNN catastrophe report,” the news anchor says into the camera, no smile on her face. “Four days have passed since the devastating events in the San Francisco Bay area that caused the most extensive flood in recent history. More and more eyewitness reports are coming to light, describing what occurred not as an asteroid, but as two men fighting in the skies. Until this afternoon, no actual footage of the incident has been published, but now a student has uploaded a video that promptly went viral.”

The picture cuts from the woman to the footage – it’s grainy and has low resolution, even more so on the large television in the bunker’s living room, but it doesn’t matter. It shows what Dean saw with his own eyes and he really doesn’t need to see Lucifer riding his brother’s body one more time. He glances down at Castiel, who’s huddled against his side, exhausted after days of research with no results to show for it. 

“They just disappeared!” some grandma says on the TV. The header explains that she’s one of the civilians who were at the coast that day. “And then they reappeared! One of them, nice young feller, grabbed me and then I was someplace else! They didn’t say anything, but I think they’re angels! God has sent them to save us!”

The picture changes again and the blonde journalist fills the screen once more. 

“Across the globe people of every denomination have proclaimed that the Rapture is upon us. Churches are overflowing, temples filled to capacity. Meanwhile, Las Vegas reports to have not a single room left.”

The program cuts to some guy in a suit, filmed against the Nevada desert that Dean would be able to pick out anywhere. The Suit talks about the sudden wave of visitors in Sin City and Dean can’t blame them for wanting to blow off some steam. Hell, the religious nuts aren’t far off, actually. Just there’s gonna be no Jesus coming down and saving them in this version of Judgment Day. 

After that, the news lady makes some half-assed transition to the suffering of millions all along the coasts of the North Pacific, urging the viewers to donate money to one of the national or international charity organizations or donation campaigns that have grown outta the ground like weeds. 

From what Gabriel told them this morning, the angels are doing everything they can and by now, a lot of human help’s arrived as well but Dean doesn’t want to think about the many corpses littering the sea sides like fruit flies after you smoke ‘em out with bug spray. 

Dean kills the TV when they start showing footage of wrecked stripes of Japanese land. 

“This ain’t helping our morale,” he grunts, eliciting a dry laugh from their most unwelcome houseguest. 

“Oh, this is what you were trying to do, squirrel? Motivate us?”

“Yeah, next there’ll be singing around the campfire,” Dean grumbles. 

All Crowley says is, deadpan, “Good. I’ve never tried smores.”

Dean’s in the middle of rolling his eyes and pulling Cas tighter against him ‘cause the former angel’s shifting on the sofa and while Dean love to replay that little moment four days ago when Cas went all badass on the King of Hell, they’ve all been arguing way too much lately, when a jolt goes through the bunker. 

“What the hell?” Dean curses. Moment’s later Cas and he are on their feet, nothing more than a couple ‘o looks enough to communicate. 

“Brilliant, Dean, go and jinx it,” Crowley sneers and too bad that Dean’s too far away from the demon to hit him. 

Another jolt shakes the room but it’s barely enough to make the dishes clatter on the coffee table before it stops. 

“I think it came from the direction if the garage,” Castiel muses and since Dean’s more of a running-towards-danger kinda guy he’s moving towards the door a second later. Soft footsteps tell him that Cas is right behind him. Crowley’s probably hiding under the sofa by now. 

When they venture into the garage, Dean’s prepared for a hell of a lot of things, seriously. Demons, monsters, vampires, angels… what he didn’t expect, though, was Charlie Bradbury, red hair tied in a loose bun, looking ten times fiercer than he remembers her, standing in front of the door she left through so many months ago. 

Her face lights up when she catches sight of Dean at the other end of the room. 

“I heard you guys started another apocalypse _without me_?”

*

*

When Charlie left earth with Dorothy, she wanted – nope, _needed_ – a quest. Her own journey to Mount Doom, her walk into the Forbidden Forrest, though maybe without the dying and coming back to life. Well, she got that covered anyway, if she’s to believe Dorothy about what happened after the Wicked Witch threw her against the wall. 

But right – quest. She found it. Oz needed a hero, and said hero needed a sidekick, which is where Charlie came in. She wasn’t the only one, mind you, and she screwed up sometimes (how could she know that those cute little dog-like creatures were actually evil? So not her fault!) but all in all it worked well. She got a few scars, new skills and made new friends. 

Though when word reached Oz shortly after their victory that earth is in trouble, like of the big apocalyptic kind, then Charlie really had no other option. 

The Winchesters are the only family she has left. 

So she hugs Dorothy goodbye, promises to return when it’s safe again, accepts the bag of magical weaponry and spells that remind Charlie a bit of the stuff at LARPing events, and travels to the door she entered through. 

It takes a bit of magic to make the door open at the exact same spot it did all those months ago, but for the girl who single-handedly defeated an army of Wheelers that’s not even the beginning of a problem. Hermione would be so proud.

She steps into the familiar garage, glad to see the Impala in the lot as well as Dorothy’s motorcycle. They both look cared for, if not too shiny. Charlie sighs. It must be bad, then, if she can see a few streaks of mud around the Impala’s metal frame. 

The door shuts behind her with a dull _thud_ that echoes through the garage and makes the entire bunker shake a bit. Huh. At least Sam and Dean will know she’s here. 

As if on cue, two people emerge at the other end of the room, one of them Dean. The other has to be Castiel – he’s not wearing a trenchcoat but black pants and a white shirt with the top two or three buttons undone. His hair’s the exact kind of messy that Charlie always pictured when she read about the angel in the Supernatural books. 

Charlie breaks into a huge smile. “I heard you guys started another apocalypse _without me_?” she mocks and two seconds later, Dean’s stowed his weapon away and is pulling her in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Looking good, kid,” he tells her, making her beam. 

“You look less worn-down than I’d have imagined, what with the world ending and all.”

His face falls slightly. “Long story. Oh, you and Cas haven’t met, have you?”

“No, but I’m a big fan,” Charlie says, meaning it, as she offers her hand to the angel. “You’re Heaven’s most badass angel – a girl’s gotta admire that.”

Castiel accepts her greeting but averts his eyes. “Unfortunately I am no longer an angel.”

“Oh?”

“Long story. Which I ain’t telling without a drink. Come on, girl.”

It’s fascinating how in synch Dean and Cas move. The hunter turns and the not-angel mirrors his movement, falling into step with him. They didn’t even look at each other, just acted and it reminds Charlie of the time Dorothy and she had this going on in the final battles. Oh yeah. She can see where the shippers are coming from. 

Giggling internally, she follows the men through the hallways, pausing in the kitchen to pick up booze (gosh, it’s totally possible that Charlie missed alcohol, just a little bit) and then they end up in the empty living room. 

“We’ve got two more guests but oen of ‘em’s out coordinating the hunters, and the other’s hiding underneath his blanket like some coward!” Dean explains, shouting the last part, probably to get the attention of whomever he’s referring to. 

“Cool, and what about Sam?” Charlie asks. 

Needless to say, she is not prepared for the story that follows. 

*

Joe Asher has a good reputation among hunters – Alex’s father told her a lot of wild stories about Asher’s youth and now that the man is older, he’s just as deadly. What is more is that he is respected in the community, so if he said everyone should listen to Alex when she calls with news from Gabriel and the rest of the angels, his word would carry weight. 

For that to happen, though, he needs to actually take her side. 

“Joe, the angels know better than anyone what’s going on across the country – it makes sense to let them be hunter central, don’t you think?” Alex tries, hoping that the hard lines of Asher’s face will soften. 

“They got us into this fucking mess in the first place, now they’re asking for help? Where’ve they been when we needed it?”

“I know, and they know it, too, but the circumstances –“

“Yeah, girl, what are those circumstances exactly? ‘Cause no one knows what’s going on for sure, except apparently you. So why don’t you share with the class, kiddo?”

Yes, that’s what Alex feared. Gabriel didn’t really give her the go-ahead to spread the news about the apocalypse, but… Well, nothing else has managed to sway Asher so far and the archangel insisted they get his cooperation. 

So Alex glances around, then tilts her head in a request for the older man to follow. He is still quick on his feet – Alex can tell he is in good shape despite the large scar on the right side of his face and the slight limp that she knows better than to ask about. Once they are standing a bit further from the hustle and bustle of the emergency camp, Alex draws a deep breath. 

“Okay. You know how the religious people all across the world are saying that this is the apocalypse? They’re right. That asteroid was actually Michael after Lucifer killed him and cast him down. Gabriel’s the only leader Heaven has left and all bad things on this earth are flocking around Lucifer, so we need to act as effectively as possible in order to assure humanity’s got some sort of chance to survive this.”

Asher considers her intently and for a moment Alex thinks he will bark out a laugh, yet then he seems to realize that she’s not actually joking and his face pales. 

“For real? But the Winchesters stopped it.”

“They stopped the last one. My father died protecting the Book of Seals but the demons killed him and my brother and took the book, opened the seals and…” Alex waves her hand in an all-encompassing manner. 

“So can’t they just do what they did last time?”

Alex is immensely glad that someone has yet to catch Lucifer on video or a picture, since so far no one knows that the devil is currently riding around in Sam Winchester’s body. Alex is not going to remedy that if she has a choice. 

“They’re working on it but it’s more complicated. Anyway, they’re looking for a way and I’m going to coordinate with you all – just like my Dad used to, alright? Please, it’s the best thing I can do to help.”

She may be pleading just a little bit, yet Asher’s the kind of hunter that doesn’t think a woman can do an equally sound job at ganking things – he might just eat that up, especially since she played the dead-Dad-card. He would be turning in his grave if he heard her talk her abilities down like that… but he doesn’t have a grave, so… 

_Sorry, Dad_ , she thinks to herself. _Desperate times call for desperate measures._

Asher breathes out loudly, his nostrils flaring. “Alright. How you wanna do this?”

Alex allows herself a moment of relief before launching into the system she came up with. 

*

“What’s the buzz, tell me what’s a-happening?” Gabriel asks seconds after a soft flutter of wings announced his presence. Joe Asher just walked off and Alex feels too exhausted to indulge the former trickster. 

The glare she levels at him is enough to make him sober up, though he can’t suppress an eye roll apparently. 

“Jeez, who stole your sense of humor, huh?”

“Sam Winchester.”

“Ouch.”

“At least Asher’s on board.”

Gabriel grins. “Told you you could do it!”

“Yeah, by pretending to be some unskilled woman who’s only able to help by manning the phones.”

“What, you telling me you got more skills than that?” the angel mocks her and Alex retaliates by punching his arm. Hard. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t get your incredibly skillful titties in a twist. So you wanna return to base? Maybe the lovebirds and the coward managed to dig something up by now.”

“They’d have called if they had.”

“You’re just a regular ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” 

“Of course I am,” Alex snarls. “The world’s ending, the devil’s walking the earth and it’s all my fault. I’m rainbows and unicorns, isn’t it obvious?”

When her brain catches on with the meaning behind the words they are already out of her mouth. Gabriel blinks at her, frowning deeply. 

“How’s any of this your fault?”

Alex swallows around the lump that is suddenly blocking her throat. “Well,” she begins, “I didn’t manage to stop the demon. If I had protected the book better, they wouldn’t have had a list conveniently detailing all seals… Maybe my brother would even still be alive.”

The silence that falls only lasts a brief moment before Gabriel grips her shoulders tight and gives her a little shake. 

“Now you listen to me, Alex,” he all but growls. “If you’d been home that night, that demon? Woulda killed you. Then where’d we be? Whoever that bitch was wouldn’t have stopped at nothing and even if you’d have ended her, they’d have sent an army next time. They wanted the book and they got it. I’m just glad you got out alive ‘cause you’re a real asset to us. You just convinced that stupid redneck hunter who everyone listens to even though I got no freakin’ idea why ‘cause he’s neither nice nor clever, but you got him to cooperate and that will undoubtedly safe a whole bunch of lives.” Gabriel pauses and somehow his stare is even more intense now. “So don’t blame yourself, capiche?”

His hands are still on her shoulder and he won’t look away, so Alex has no chance but to nod. Somehow she finds herself meaning it, too. 

“Alright, then let’s get you back to that bat cave.”

*

**Rome, Vatican City**

Night has long since fallen over the city, yet sleeps still eludes him. Too much suffering, too many questions he does not have the answers to. Everyone wants a statement from the Vatican, preferably a direct quote from him and he has to make up his mind. There is a press conference tomorrow. 

Yet he cannot make sense of what is happening at the moment – and neither can any of his fellow religious leaders. Everyone is at a loss. Nothing is as it was told, yet it looks like the world is ending nevertheless. 

A slight breeze shakes the leaves, usually a vibrant green in the summer sun. Now they reflect the silver-grey moonlight. The garden is peaceful. He does most of his thinking here. 

“It’s beautiful,” a voice suddenly says in flawless Italian. 

He turns slowly, more to calm his spiking pulse than because of old age, until he spies another man. His trousers and shoes are worn, matching the brown of his jacket. This shirt is dark, maybe blue. It is hard to tell in the light. He can, however, see the beard and blond hair. 

“It is.”

“You seem troubled.”

He smiles wryly at the sudden change of topic. He cannot quite fathom who the man before him is, yet deep inside something resonates with his presence, providing just enough of a clue if one is willing to listen. 

“My flock expects me to lead, though I do not know where to.”

“What does your gut tell you?”

A beat. “My gut?” he asks, just to make sure he heard right. The stranger’s lips curl into a smile. 

“Your gut.”

“That what everyone is saying is true. That this is the end.”

The other man does not reply; he merely raises both brows and gives a half-shrug, which seems to translate to a “yes”. 

“Why now? Why like this? This isn’t as it was written.”

His counterpart seems to be almost embarrassed by his comment. “Well, that plan didn’t work out as expected.”

“So there is a new plan?” he inquires, hope filling his voice. The other man smiles at him, now only a few meters away. 

“No.”

That is enough to give him pause. “No? There is no plan? But there is always a plan!” He might have forgot his place for a moment. As soon as he realizes which tone he just used he opens his mouth to apologize, yet the man only raises a hand. 

“I understand your indignation. But my answer stands - there is no plan, except for what has always been true. Heaven awaits everyone who believes and so does every other form of paradise.” He allows for a brief silence before he adds, “I could intervene, that is true. Yet what would be the point of free will if I did?”

The man smiles at him and in the blink of an eye later he is gone and it is as if there never was another presence in the garden that night. 

*

When Alex gets back to the bunker, it’s late and she’s tired so she doesn’t seek out anyone and just collapses into bed. Despite everything she’s still the first to wake the next morning – or so she thinks. 

The TV is on in the living room where Alex takes her coffee and breakfast, planning to catch the news. There’s someone sitting on the sofa, someone with red hair, clutching a mug of what looks like hot chocolate against their chest. 

“And who would you be?” Alex asks, making the stranger jump. Surprisingly she doesn’t spill anything before she gets to her feet and turns around. 

It’s a girl. Well, woman, maybe mid-twenties. She seems friendly and if she’s here then she didn’t get in without Dean’s approval. Probably. 

“Charlie! I’m Charlie, a friend of Dean’s. You must be Alex? Well, damn girl.”

Alex narrows her eyes. Damn, what? 

The girl – Charlie – blushes slightly at her reaction. “Oh, I mean, from what Dean told me about you I pictured you kind of like an Amazon – not because I though you cut off your breasts, no! Dean told me about how you took them out when you guys first met and damn, that sounds like some really badass fighting. You know, like Black Widow or –“ 

“It’s basic Krav Maga. Anyone could do it.”

“I don’t know, doesn’t it take like, years of training?”

She has a point, so Alex shrugs and glances at the sofa. “Mind if I join you?”

“Nope, not at all! Please, sit!” 

Alex is starting to wonder if Charlie always acts like a hyperactive puppy or if she actually has some valuable skills. 

“What did I miss?” She gestures to the TV and picks up the spoon for her cereal. 

“Oh, uh, just the Pope telling the world that the apocalypse is upon us, so nothing new.”

“The Pope _confirmed_ it?”

“Yup. Press conference and everything. Told us not to worry ‘cause Heaven awaits and I’m just glad that I know he’s not lying and that the gates are open again, ‘cause, you know, would’ve been kind of shitty to die and then not get into Heaven. Well, if I’m one of those who get in. But I really don’t wanna go to Hell. Dean’s never said much about it but I read the books and, just, nope.”

“Has the panic started yet?”

Charlie blows out a breath. “Not really. I guess everyone’s still in shock. But the conference just happened half an hour ago, so…”

Before Alex can reply, her phone rings in her pocket and she has to bend a bit to retrieve it from her pants pocket. The caller ID ready “hottest man alive” and Alex gives herself a moment to roll her eyes at Gabriel’s childish sense of humor. 

“Using your angel juice to change my contact details, really?”

“Gotta keep morale high, don’t I?” Gabriel quips back. “But listen – did you catch that press conference?”

“No, but I got the cliff notes.”

“Good. We should start giving out more info, so call Asher and your other contacts, fill them in about us being angels and Lucifer being behind all this, and maybe – if we’re very, very lucky – the hysteria won’t be as bad.”

“You mean more intel about the impending apocalypse will be _soothing_?” 

“Better than the alternative. Come on, time’s a-wasting, start calling people, woman!”

“Misogynistic is not a good look on you, Gabriel.”

“Ack, what do you know? Alright, gotta go, very important angel business to attend to…”

“Grooming your feathers?”

“Wing maintenance takes a lot of time and care, I’ll have you know, young lady. Now shoo!”

Chuckling to herself, Alex hangs up and finds Charlie staring at her with wide eyes. 

“What?”

“You’re talking like this to Gabriel? The archangel?”

“Oh, he’s just a giant five-year-old. Kind of like the big brother I never had who’s less mature than I am.”

“What’s he want you to do?”

“Make some calls. I’m coordinating with the hunters. The angels tell me where they’re needed, I play call-center. Gabriel just gave the go-ahead that hunters can fill people in as to what’s going down.”

“Can I help?”

“Can you operate a phone?”

“I hacked NASA. And every other intelligence agency, before I turned 21. I’ll be able to handle a phone.”

Alex is about to just accept that and give her numbers to call, yet then an idea hits her. 

“Wait. Does that mean you can do websites, things like that?”

Charlie snorts. “I could do that blind with my hands tied behind my back while I’m typing with my tongue.” To make her point, she assumes the position and sticks out her tongue. 

“Okay, got it,” Alex laughs. “How long would that take? With your fingers, not your tongue?”

Charlie blinks at her, for some reason looking like her brain just froze, but then she is shaking her head and rearranging herself on the sofa. “Not long. What do you have in mind?”

*

By the time Dean finds them in a comfortable corner of the bunker, they have the general layout of the website up and running – after clearing it with Gabriel first, of course, with Charlie working on the code while Alex ticked off her calls. 

Alex. Damn. A woman like that should not be allowed to say things like “with your fingers, not your tongue” and expect a coherent answer from Charlie. She can’t even look at her too much without loosing track of whatever it is she’s doing on her laptop. 

Alex is a bit like Dorothy, but without the constant need to prove her worth because back in her time no one thought a woman could do much.

“Alex – when did you get back?”

“Late last night. You were already asleep. Or in the vicinity of a bed, at least,” she says with a grin. 

Yeah, because apparently Dean and Cas are no secret around here. Charlie put two and two together last night when the former angel sat down really close to Dean and their hands touched so naturally, so matter-of-factly, that there was no other explanation.When Charlie confronted (well, asked) Dean about it, the hunter merely shrugged. 

“Long story. Just sorta happened.”

Charlie beamed at him. “I’m happy for you. I was thinking all through the books that you’d make a good couple. Glad you saw it, too.”

Dean’s expression darkened a bit, though Charlie couldn’t for the life of her name every emotion that flickered over his face. However it happened, there was probably a lot of manpain involved which Charlie knew better than to dig up so she pulled Dean into a hug. 

“What about you and Dorothy? I got a pretty intense vibe from you two,” Dean insinuated and Charlie ducked her head. 

“We tried but… We didn’t fit as well as we thought we would. Did make one hell of a team on the battlefield, though.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Dean said with a smile and hugged her again. 

Back in the present Dean’s leveling a glare at Alex. “We took some books with us, kept working. It’s just nicer without Crowley around.”

Charlie can’t fault him for that. She still doesn’t know how she feels about the former King of Hell keeping them company. 

“So what’re you doing?” Dean changes the topic seamlessly, flopping down in a chair next to Charlie. 

“A website, giving out info about the apocalypse. Gabriel signed off on it and we got a few of the hunters to cooperate as well, so it’s not just ‘The world is ending – deal with it’ but actual helpful stuff, like how to defend yourself against demons, and so on.”

“And apparently Charlie is a world-class hacker, so we’ll spread the word about the site on the news and in the papers,” Alex explains, sounding genuinely impressed with Charlie’s plan to display their url in the small banners of news programs and stuff. 

“Apocalypse 2.0, huh?” Dean quips and Charlie laughs despite herself. Gosh, how she missed earth. Even if it’s ending.

*

If you forget about the painful visions, being a prophet is sort of a sweet deal. He’s kept safe in Heaven (freaking _Heaven_ , that’ll never wear off) and they allowed him to visit his sister Cindy once to tell her he’s alright. 

Gabriel even agreed to get Cindy a bodyguard-angel. Not that she knows of him, but Jamie’s sleeping easier knowing that she’ll be fine when shit gets real. Or, you know, more real. 

It’s been five days since his last vision, so it’s no surprise when he collapses that afternoon, brain filled with flashes of a teenager at an airport and that guy in the white suit that Jamie knows to be the devil by now. 

Whoever that kid is, Jamie’s glad he’s not in his shoes. 

*

With an angry roar, Dean flings the stupid book across the library where it hits a shelf before falling to the floor. His vision’s swimming and his brain’s screaming at him that this ain’t no use and that they’ll never find anything in those books. 

“Dean,” Cas begins, but Dean knows exactly what placating bullshit the guys’s going to spout. 

“No, don’t tell me we’ll find something ‘cause we all know that’s a lie, okay? We should start fighting, stop pushing books around and sitting on our asses.”

“We can’t fight Lucifer.”

“I know that,” Dean snaps, jumping to his feet, “but he’s got lackey and demons and monsters – I say we take ‘em on one at a time until there’s nothing left!”

Cas opens his mouth to speak but a voice interrupts him. 

“Nope, don’t say anything, Cassie, in that mood he ain’t gonna listen to anything you gotta say.”

Gabriel saunters in with a smirk and Dean has half a mind to punch him in the jaw and see if he’ll still be smiling then. 

“Aw, confinement to a place with books really isn’t your thing, is it?” the angel sneers. “But don’t you worry, I got the perfect solution. Field trip to New York! Well, if I say New York, I mean JFK, as in the airport, ‘cause our dearest prophet had a vision of some kid landing there with Lucifer waiting to pick him up. Figure we should intercept that particular welcome committee.”

“Some kid?” Dean echoes. What the fuck do they need a kid for?

“Teenager, coming in from Australia. No idea why he’s important, but we gotta get a move on, kiddo.”

Dean’s out of the library faster than Gabriel could have zapped him, grabbing his weapons and when he reaches the main room, Charlie, Alex and Cas are already waiting there, all armed to their teeth and ready for some action. 

“Let’s do this,” Dean grunts and starts climbing the stairs. 

*

The airport is pure chaos. People are hurrying along, dragging luggage after themselves, families trying to stay together, those without tickets shouting at the staff ‘cause that’ll _surely_ get them a place on the overbooked plane, won’ it, and in the middle there are Dean, Cas, Charlie, Alex and Gabriel, with an army of other angels nearby. 

They get to the gate where the flight from Australia is supposed to land with an hour to spare. 

“Why don’t we all get ourselves some hot chocolate or one of them frappuccinos and then we’ll come up with a plan?” Gabriel suggests, already eyeing the nearest coffee shop with interest. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean grouses. “You thinking of coffee now?” 

“No need to be on edge when we don’t need to be. Oh, and don’t you think it’ll look a bit suspicious when you’re prowling the airport with a hand on that knife inside your pants? Right? So what’s everyone want?”

Which is how Dean ends up with a paper cup full of (admittedly delicious) coffee and an arm around Cas who’s making inappropriate noises at his…. whatsitsname-with-whipped-cream-and-sprinkles, sitting near the gate where the kid’ll hopefully turn up while Charlie’s looking for the control room so they’ll be able to play the exorcism through the speakers when the demon army shows up. 

“We should put the child between us,” Cas suggests after he disposed of both their cups. “Since Lucifer cannot harm us without breaking the deal.”

“Good thinking, Cas,” Dean says, meaning it. Cas smiles back at him, lighting up at the praise and Dean’s eyes flicker to his lips. It’s all it takes for Cas to lean in and then they’re kissing, in the middle of an airport in New York during the damn apocalypse. Dean has no idea how this is his life. 

“Good Lord, guys, can’t you keep your hands off each other for an hour?” Gabriel groans with mock-indignation. Dean knows it’s fake ‘cause he saw Gabriel smiling at them when they sat down, so the archangel can’t mind too much that his brother’s getting some. 

Dean withdraws long enough to glare at the guy and throw his napkin at him like the mature adult that he is before pulling Cas in for another kiss. 

*

Beth observes from a safe distance, making sure to note which “innocent bystanders” the archangel acknowledges, outing them as angels while doing so. 

She still doesn’t understand why they can’t just pluck the plane out of the sky and kidnap the brat, but the boss was adamant that it needed to be public. He has a plan, though he did not think it necessary to share it with them. 

It doesn’t matter to Beth. She will follow Lucifer, no matter what he wants her to do. Everything is falling into place and soon demons will take over the world and the angels will be history. 

Until then... 

Beth’s lips curl into a smile when she spies a familiar dark-haired pastor’s daughter in the crowd. 

*

Everything becomes clear when Dean lays eyes on the kid they’re here for. 

It’s Jesse Turner, antichrist-turned-fugitive. 

Jesse recognizes him, too, judging by the way he pales a bit. Dean mouths ‘play along’ and then plasters a huge smile on his face, pulling Cas with him as he moves toward the kid. 

Jesse has grown a lot in the past few years. His face is still as soft as it was back then but his eyes aren’t as innocent anymore. He’s seen things, matured. No fifteen-year-old should have to look so old, Dean thinks. 

“Hey there, kiddo,” he greets Jesse and is grateful when the kid keeps up the pretense and hugs him back. Dean uses the chance to whisper in his ear. “The new prophet had a vision and we’re sure there’s demons here to take you to Lucifer, but you stick close to me and Cas, okay, kiddo?”

Dean leans back and sees Jesse’s eyes narrow. Suddenly, there’s a strange sensation inside him, like someone probing into his soul or mind or whatever. It has to be Jesse, using whatever psychic powers he has been developing since Lucifer rose to check if he’s being truthful or not. 

Next to him, Cas gasps but Dean doesn’t get the chance to complain for Jesse nods and Cas squeezes his shoulder to show it’s fine. 

“Did you come alone?” is the first thing Jesse says. 

Dean shakes his head. “We got heavenly back-up. And two more hunters. We’ll be fine.”

It’s a lie – he knows that. Jesse knows that. And yet they make it to the main hall of the terminal before all hell breaks loose. Literally. 

*

A loud _dang_ startles everyone in the airport as all doors slam shut and no rattling will get them open again. Alex’ fingers close around her gun while the other hand grips the holy water bomb, ready to fling it at anyone with black eyes. 

One guy flies at Dean and Castiel but before he can make contact, Gabriel’s there to deflect the attack. The next one is coming immediately afterward, this time succeeding in flinging Dean and Castiel back and exposing the boy.

Alex yells at a few gaping bystanders to get away, throws a bomb at a passing demon who screams in pain and promptly leaves its host’s body, black smoke rising and looking for it’s next victim. 

It’s a few moments later that Alex sees her. 

The woman with the auburn hair. The demon that killed her father and brother. Rage licks at her insides and she breaks into a run, opening fire as she moves. 

*

It doesn’t take long for the fighting to escalate and for the angels to start transporting people away since apparently, the doors won’t open but angel mojo is enough to get out. Thank God for small wonders…

The angels with Charlie start with the two employees manning the speaker system, granting her unrestricted access. 

“Oh, I can’t let you do that,” a male voice says and suddenly Charlie is flying through the air. Her back hits the wall but she lands on her feet and grabs one of the pouches at her belt. 

She throws the powder at the demon whose skin starts to burn ( _thanks for that trick, Dorothy_ ). Black smoke fills the room and clears out, leaving her alone to place the phone next to the microphone. A few seconds later, the recording of the exorcism is sounding across the entire airport and demons freeze as the spell takes effect. 

Then without warning the phone falls silent and crumbles to pieces in front of Charlie’s own eyes. The temperature in the room drops by more than ten degrees from one second to the next so now Charlie can see her breath in puffs of white mist. 

She remains still for another second and then she leaps forward and continues the incantation with a finger on the microphone button. She only manages two more verses before something fills her lungs and she has to cough, pain spreading through her chest. 

When she looks down at her hand it comes away red. 

Her feet give out next and she vomits blood onto the floor, panic coursing through her veins because this can only mean one thing. 

The devil has joined the fight.

*

The exorcism stops and the demon in front of Jesse starts coming at him with renewed vigor. Too bad Jesse’s powers have been growing tenfold and he can squash the guy like the fly that he is. 

He should have stayed in Australia. He had a life there - well, until the apocalypse started. At least this time around he knew what was happening and could try to control his powers. He didn’t kill anyone this time, though he did damage the gym at his school pretty extensively. 

Not that staying behind would have had much use. They would have found him eventually and Jesse is no coward who hides and whines. 

With a flick of his hand he pulls a demon off Dean who has been thrown to the ground, then he exorcises the one currently pinning Dean’s co-hunter to the wall. 

Jesse is intensely aware of all the civilians still in the hall, too much for the angels to transport out all at once, not with the enemy troops all over the place. 

He ducks, evading a knife from a demon and in straightening up he picks the weapon up with a though and flings it back, hitting the demon right in the chest. A bit of added psychic energy and he woman’s eyes flicker with lighting and the body-turned-corpse drops to the ground. 

When Jesse glances to the side he spies a kid, maybe a year or two older than him, with masculine features but feminine clothing, filming the scene in front of… her? Jesse shakes his head. The angels will take care of her. 

Just then a chill sweeps through he hall, making several people gasp. Jesse is distracted enough that he misses the next bad guy jumping past him and aiming for the people cowering behind the airport bench, including the kid with the portable camera. 

He knows his reaction will be too late. 

Before the demon can strike, however, it bursts into flames. Pained screams fill the air and the girl looks like she’s going to be sick, but she keeps holding the camera up and takes in what is happening. 

“The one with the camera stays,” a familiar voice echoes through the room, carrying over the sound of fighting and mayhem, seemingly chiding the demon that tried to attack the teenager in question. 

Jesse recognizes the face but not the man wearing it. It’s Sam Winchester, but not. The stranger smiles. 

“Jesse, nice to meet you again. Though I suppose, strictly speaking, we have never had the pleasure since my vessel here,” he smoothens down the lapels of his white suit jacket (what kind of idiot wears an all-white suit?), “was still his old self when he convinced you to run away and denounce your allegiance.”

The girl to Jesse’s left is still filming even though she looks almost as white as Sam’s clothes. Sam – or maybe Jesse should start thinking of him as Lucifer in his head – follows his glance. He smiles into the camera lens. 

“That’s right. My name is Lucifer and this young gentleman here is supposed to follow me. He is the antichrist but last time the guy whose body I’m wearing and his brother convinced young Jesse here that it’s a better plan to run and hide. How’d that work out for you, huh?”

“Fine, until you showed up again.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Did I disrupt your schedule? Is the apocalypse coming at an inconvenient time?”

“You could have at least waited until prom was over,” Jesse complains, hoping that by stalling he will somehow think of a plan that might actually work. 

Lucifer throws his head back and laughs. “You got spunk in you, Jesse. I like that in my antichrist.”

“I’m not your antichrist.”

Lucifer just rolls his eyes. “That is so last season. I’m sure there’s something I can do for you? Spare a loved one? Bring someone back from the dead?”

Out of the corners of his eye, Jesse sees the camera lowering. The tall man in military fatigues – probably her father – has a hand on her arm, probably hoping to escape unnoticed. Unfortunately Lucifer seems to have eyes at the back of his head. Not that it’d surprise Jesse much, frankly. 

“Oh no, the young lady stays here and will keep filming,” Lucifer snaps and violently yanks the teenager in question to her feet. 

“What – you want to get on YouTube or something?” Jesse mocks him, catching sight of Dean and the other one moving closer while going about it more stealthily than the teenager. 

“Times are a-changing, Jesse. The world is mine for the taking – why should I kill all humans if maybe a few of them might want to follow me?”

“What, out of their own free will?” Jesse sneers, noting that Dean is almost in shooting distance. Not that it will do much good against the devil, but he probably has some kind of a plan, right?

“Yes.”

“Which you’ll then take away and turn them into slaves?”

“Yes. I have to admit, last time I just wanted to burn this place to the ground, but I’ve matured, I think. Think about it for a moment, Jesse – demons ruling the world, humans nothing but the vermin at their feet that they truly are… You could be my prince, rule with me.”

“Until you stab me in the back? How stupid do you think I am? You’ve got no one’s interests in mind but your own and everyone who thinks otherwise is even dumber. Now let the people go and fight me like a man!”

“Oh, insulting my pride, how will I ever survive that?” Lucifer replies with a laugh before turning towards the still-filming camera. “I hope you’re getting this. Would be a shame to miss this moment of history. And when we’re done here, I want you to upload this onto a video platform of your choice or your Daddy here will die a horrible, horrible death, which would be such a big waste after he just survived fighting in a war, wouldn’t you say? So be a good girl and do as the devil tells you, alright?”

During the last part of his speech something around Jesse shifts and then there is someone behind him. He wants to lash out but before he can react, something soft touches his bare arm. Something fluffy, like bird’s feathers. When he feels the presence of a body behind him as well, he knows who it is. To his right, Dean smirks. 

And when Lucifer finally turns around from his vain attempt at online fame (which he’ll undoubtedly get, if Jesse considers it), his eyes widen. 

“Hello, brother,” the man behind Jesse say jovially. “Sorry, can’t stay long. Nice seeing you, though.”

Something pulls at Jesse’s intestines and then the airport vanishes around him. He’s flying, he realizes with a jolt but it’s over all too soon and something that looks like an office materializes around him. 

The tugging sensation is replaced by intense pain. It starts so sudden that Jesse doubles over, gasping and whimpering. 

“Oh yeah, Antichrist in Heaven, not the best escape plan, hang on,” his savior mumbles. There is a hand on his back and slowly the pain subsides, with only a dull ache remaining. 

“Better?”

Jesse nods. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m Gabriel, currently the one in charge upstairs. Welcome to the side of the angels, kiddo.”

Jesse belatedly shakes the proffered hand and blinks around. Heaven. Huh. He can cross that off his bucket list, right?

*

After Gabriel’s deus-ex-machina act, Lucifer roars, his anger almost palpable. The ground starts shaking and a few creaking sounds make Dean worry about the structural integrity of the airport. 

“Alright, everybody out!” he shouts in a tone that brooks no argument. A moment later the angels are zapping back and forth again, pulling out people from underneath shaking ceilings while Dean flings himself in front of that kid with the camera and her (his? Dean’s got no clue) father. 

“Really clever of you, Dean,” Lucifer drawls. “Protect the one with the footage whom I won’t harm. Leave your red-haired hacker friend to bleed out in the control room. I like that.”

Dean’s blood freezes in his veins. _Charlie_. 

*

By the time the diabolic-rage-induced earthquake starts, Alex has a split lip, a head wound that’s bleeding profusely, several bruised ribs and a gash in her thigh but that damn demon isn’t faring that much better. 

Half her face has melted off from the three holy water bombs Alex hit her with and the knife she laced with salt really did a number on that bitch’s leg. A little longer and Alex will have her where she wants her and then she’s going to make her suffer. 

“So much anger,” the woman mocks. “So much fury. I knew why I didn’t kill you at your house. Vengeance is so entertaining.”

Alex pounces at her but the blood loss is apparently getting to her. Her reflexes aren’t up to their usual standards and the demon jumps out of her way, then uses her momentum to propel her into a nearby wall that is shaking. 

“By the way, I’m Beth. What a shame if you had to fantasize about killing me without even knowing my name.”

The next thing Alex is aware of is that she is lying on the ground and her already-bruised side is hurting even more. White spots start appearing in front of her eyes and Beth is walking away. 

“No!” Alex calls after her but before she can scramble back to her feet, an angel is in front of her, that woman with the brown hair, Hannah maybe, her thoughts are all fuzzy but it doesn’t matter because a moment later everything goes dark. 

*

Dean practically flies down the hallway, occasionally knocked off balance by the earthquake or jumping over shards of broken windows littering the floor, until he reaches where he recalls the control room to be. He almost slides past the door but catches himself just in time, only to be faced with the sight of Charlie, lying coughing on the floor in a pool of her own blood. 

“Fuck,” Dean curses, then closes his eyes. “Gabriel, I hope you got your ears on: get your feathery ass back down here _now_!”

Two seconds later the archangel blinks into existence. He takes one look at Charlie and his eyes widen in horror. 

“Holy crack on a cracker, alright, out of the way, I’ll get you two outta here and fix her right up.”

“You sure you can do that?” Dean asks, hating how his voice cracks slightly near the end. 

Gabriel meets his eyes and there is no certainty in them – only resolution. “Nope, but I will.”

Dean nods and Gabriel zaps them out before the ceiling collapses on top of them. 

*

Meanwhile Lucifer has appeared outside the airport where a herd of spectators and onlookers has formed, some of whom are filming the collapsing building. 

Lucifer smiles at them, then raises his hands. The sound the two asteroids make as they suddenly break the earth’s atmosphere echoes all over the world. 

He laughs before disappearing in a pillar of fire. He’s usually not one for added drama, but he might as well give humanity one last good show before they vanish once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asteroids! Yay! No worries, they’re not too big. But “stars falling from the sky” is a sign of the apocalypse and I couldn’t resist. And in case we ever get a real life apocalypse, I volunteer to run the devil’s YouTube channel *giggles*
> 
> Hope you’re all still enjoying yourself :) We’re now on the finishing line… Much more drama to come!
> 
> PS: I may be an atheist, but I was raised catholic so writing God as a character still feels a bit blasphemous. However, the plot needs him… And may I just fangirl a bit about how I love the Supernatural vision of the world religions and how they all just co-exist and neither is “right” or “wrong”?


	18. Episode 17 - When Hell Freezes Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang licks their wounds while Gavin takes another step to fulfill his full potential as False Prophet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the wait - I blame Kevin Spacey and House of Cards… Thanks for your patience, my dears! Take an extra long chapter as compensation. 
> 
> We’re getting closer to the end, folks. I’m scared. I know what will happen but I’m still scared. *cuddles-blanket*

The loud crack can be heard all across the world; it bounces off mountains and looses some of its volume yet never enough so to grow completely silent. 

It is loudest in Russia and Africa, where the asteroids eventually make impact after crashing down with supernatural speed, rendering it impossible for scientists to stop them or evacuate targeted areas. 

They needn’t have worried – neither one of the asteroids costs many lives. The one that goes down in Siberia fells thousands and thousands of trees and the shockwave even reaches London, but hardly anyone dies. And while the one making impact in the Sahara desert causes quite the sandstorm, casualties are minimal. 

Lucifer rages, curses him, threatens the worst of pain to him once he gets the chance, yet Sam remains unfazed. 

True, he is powerless over Lucifer, though in small ways he can still be useful to his brother and the angels. If Lucifer had had his way, the asteroids would have destroyed mayor cities. Thanks to Sam’s involvement, they hardly made a dent in the world’s population. 

Of course a furious Lucifer is a dangerous Lucifer, who decides that the False Prophet better start soon with conjuring the Beast of the Sea. 

Well… Dean always likes a challenge, doesn’t he?

*

*

“Jesse is safe, nice going with trying to protect him but from what I’ve gathered the kid’s pretty badass all on his lonesome,” is the first comment out of Gabriel’s mouth once they are all back at the bunker. 

His second action is working some mojo on Alex who looks like she took up boxing, but with an opponent three times her size. Dean remembers her fighting pretty severely with a particular demon – as in ‘vendetta intense’. Seems like the girl found the one who murdered her family. Good on her. 

“We know what the sounds were yet? Man, those were loud.” Dean shakes his head, already dreading Gabriel’s answer. 

And the archangel doesn’t disappoint. “Asteroids,” he says grimly. “Though they didn’t cause as much chaos as I thought. Pretty unlike my brother to make them impact in the middle of nowhere with a population of zero.”

“So what happened?” Alex asks. She looks as though she wasn’t bruised and bloodied three seconds ago, as if they didn’t just face the devil. More than anything she seems eager to get back out there. 

Charlie, on the other, hand is cowering in a chair, still shaken from whatever spell or curse Lucifer put on her. 

“Moose happened,” Gabriel explains. “The only way those asteroids changed direction is if Sam influenced their trajectory.”

“So he’s still in there?”

“I doubt Luci was kind enough to release his soul before he took over.”

Dean can’t argue with that. “So what now?”

“We should get back out there,” Alex suggests completely unsurprisingly. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Gabriel argues. “Y’all are hitting the hay, pronto. You’re all human, you need rest. You’re no use to me running on fumes. I’ll call as soon as I got news, okay?”

They all argue back, except for Charlie, though of course Gabriel wins. Dean takes the laptop with him and Cas and he spend another hour and a half browsing through forums, YouTube and Twitter. 

“What’s that, Dean?” Cas points at a recommended video entitled ‘Join Lucifer and survive the apocalypse’. Someone was quick – it has barely been two hours since the girl from the airport uploaded her video. 

“Jeez, already a couple ‘o thousand views?” Dean curses. “Don’t people got anything better to do than watch videos while the world’s ending?”

“They are looking for answers, for guidance. Most of them have no means of making sense of all of this. If you had never encountered anything supernatural before, how would you react to the apocalypse?”

Of course Cas has a point and Dean grumbles as much into his imaginary beard. He clicks “play” and immediately recoils from the laptop when the video reveals none other than Merrick. 

“Son of a bitch!” 

Dean jumps from the bed and Cas quickly pauses the video. “What is it?”

“That douchebag!”

“Who?”

“That’s Merrick, Cas! Torture master extraordinaire downstairs while I was working for Crowley. That bastard…”

A lot suddenly made more sense. Merrick’s helpful attitude, ensuring his descent into bloodlust and darkness. How Merrick didn’t seem curious about the Knights’ mission while the seals were breaking… 

Well, Dean can’t change the past but he sure as hell can gank that motherfucker when he sees him next. Clenching his teeth, Dean climbs back into bed and pulls Cas close, needing the strength that the body next to him gives him before he actually watches whatever shit Merrick put on YouTube. 

“Greetings, puny humans,” are the demon’s first words. “I may look like you but I assure you – I am not.” His eyes flash black and something flies across the frame and lands in his hand. A carving knife, Dean recognizes when he gets a clearer look. 

“I am powerful and I am dangerous and most importantly, I am but one of many of my kind. We demons are among you and we will ensure that the earth will fall and belong to our master instead. Now,” he sneers, suddenly much less grim, “if you believe there is a place in heaven for you, go ahead and die. But if you want to remain a part of this world; if you wish to work for the winning side, then it is time to declare your allegiance to Lucifer, the Morning Star, Beelzebub, our leader. Let me show you how.”

Merrick spends the next three minutes dragging some innocent kid into the frame, obviously relishing it as he tells the viewers how this young boy is pure an innocent, and he still ended up in the hands of demons. “Now he’s our live model,” Merrick jokes. Shit, his jokes have always been stale. 

One moment later Merrick brings the knife down on the boy’s skin, etching a symbol into his right cheek. It bleeds a lot though Merrick doesn’t seem to mind. The boy’s cries make Dean’s stomach lurch. 

Once the blood has been wiped off the form of the carving becomes visible. It’s simple, just an upside down cross. 

“This one’s a bit deep. Yours won’t need to be. It just needs to be visibly carved into your skin and we will accept you as a follower of Satan and you won’t end up like this insignificant human here.” With one fluid movement, Merrick rams the carving knife into the boy’s temple. The kid gurgles and then falls to the side where he keeps twitching while Merrick bids his goodbye. “Thank you for your attention.”

The video ends without further commentary. Dean wouldn’t have expected any further links or things like that. After all if the world ends, Dean doubts there’ll be enough infrastructure left to maintain websites. 

“What will we do with marked humans?” Cas asks, breaking the silence. 

“Let ‘em live unless they start killing for their new boss. Gotta keep to the rules.” 

Besides, if they actually win this fight then the less dead humans the better. Dean doesn’t say that, though, since even in his head it sounds ludicrous. 

“We should get some rest. I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be rougher than the preceding ones.”

“Huh, you don’t say,” Dean drawls, but there’s no bite in it. He closes the laptop and puts it on the floor, then huddles closer to the former angel. 

Cas flings one arm across Dean’s chest as he drapes himself across his torso, resting his head in the crook of Dean’s neck. He drops a chaste kiss to Cas’ forehead. 

“Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” he hears him murmur back. It will always be one of Dean’s biggest regrets that he didn’t make a move before the whole Knight-of-hell-apocalypse mess started. To imagine he could have fallen asleep next to Cas for years? 

Dean quickly chases the thought away. Dwelling on past mistakes ain’t gonna help them. Instead he basks in the now and allows the warmth radiating from Cas’ body lull him to sleep. 

*

Brian Remy advanced in life through a mixture of skill, charm, intellect and a talent for manipulation paired with a lack of scruples that limit most people’s success to the mediocre.

At least that is what he likes to think. Of course, the fact that he is barely 34 and a partner in the most prestigious advertising agency in Washington, DC, should say enough about how ambitious he is. And in a city where intrigue, lies and deceit are the everyday order of business? Brian fits right in. 

Brian has the perfect life – a beautiful and horrendously expensive flat, a car that turns heads on the street, a collection of tailored suits and he is content with casual relationships that simply fall into his lap, forgive the cheap pun. 

Above that he works on the top floor of a large and sleek office building, walls made out of glass with his last name on the exterior. Remy & Vause is prime property, just a few blocks away from the White House itself. 

Only today it looks like a ghost office more than anything. Furthermore, when Brian makes it to his floor, it is incredibly cold. Apparently the AC hasn’t come in to work either. 

“Over sixty percent called in sick,” Laura Vause, the agency’s founder, tells him with a long-suffering sigh. She has a reputation for firing people for the smallest infractions. Most people call her cold, Brian just calls her effective. Obviously they get along quite well. 

“Well, most our clients did, too.”

“Apocalypse, _please_.” Laura rolls her eyes. “A little bit of water and two asteroids and everyone is loosing their minds. Weaklings.”

“Pardon?” a male voice inquires. 

They both turn and meet brown, soft eyes. They belong to man who could be one of their in-house models – he is tall, muscular, with a chiseled jaw and long hair that looks surprisingly good on him. He even manages to pull of the completely white suit he is wearing. 

“Hello, are you my 9.30?” Brian asks, aiming his most charming smile at the new arrival. 

“No. But I’m sure you can squeeze me in.”

Brian checks his clock. “Of course, why don’t you follow me?”

“Oh, you have it the wrong way ‘round.”

“Excuse me?”

For a second Brian entertains the thought that this man mistook their agency for a BDSM club. 

“You heard me. I will take over this building and you can either leave or loose your lives. I look forward to meeting you in hell, in that case.”

“Oh, yes,” Laura intervenes. “You are that guy from YouTube. The one who calls himself the devil. It’s weird – how come the devil looks like one of the mas-murdering brothers that made the news a few years back?”

The stranger smiles and Brian notices how his eyes have suddenly gone extremely cold. 

“Someone did her homework. It won’t help you, though.”

He snaps the fingers of his left hand and suddenly Laura bursts into flames. They are a bright red and don’t emanate any heat at all which strikes Brian as incredibly strange. Laura screams. The flames don’t stop but envelope her further until her entire body is submerged. 

That is the moment that Brian panics. Well, in his own way. He has had guns pointed at him, angry ex-lovers assault him, done deals with millions on the line. When he panics, it is internal; adrenaline pumping through his veins and sharpening his wits. 

When he glances at Lucifer again he is tilting his head at him. 

“You aren’t running.”

“I won’t be fast enough.” The devil chuckles and Brian presses on. “Besides, I figured I’d use the moment to apply for a job.”

That even elicits a barking laugh from the man. Laura’s screams die out as her charred corpse falls to the floor. 

“What kind of job would that be?”

“I am the best advertising agent on the East Coast and when shouldering such a huge undertaking like the apocalypse, you will need me.”

Lucifer looks, if anything, amused. Well, Brian’s still breathing, so he must be doing something right. He decides to simply proceed, pretending this is just a pitch like any other. 

“Now, I don’t know yet what your strategy is – if you want to establish a new order or if you are more in favor of chaos and anarchy, but,” Brian continues, one hand in the pocket of his pants, the other gesticulating in compliance with his speech, “you will need to spread the word. I take it the face-carving video was a first step? It was a good one, but the next step would be a follow-up, coordinating a social media campaign, getting words out. You haven’t won this fight yet but already you are gathering a following. Those are human resources you can utilize to your gain.”

Brian would have continues, though Lucifer holds up a hand to silence him. 

“A social media campaign?”

“Yes. YouTube is a great start but you should have additional accounts on Twitter, Facebook, maybe even Instagram and Tumblr. You wouldn’t have to manage it, of course, but it will be essential in getting your message out there. Engage them and give them less reason to dislike you. Consider it part of your image campaign.”

He stops there. _Don’t oversell it_ , he tells himself. If asked a few years back whether he would think the devil would use the internet should he return, Brian would have laughed rather loudly. Not only because he used to be a convinced atheist, but also because the devil’s last coup was millions of years ago. He wouldn’t even know about pens and paper, let alone a computer. 

Now, however, Lucifer is considering him with a calculating expression on his face. A minute trickles by until he moves again and his lips curl into a smile. 

“Fine. I’ll humor you. But the moment you loose your appeal, I’ll eviscerate you and feed your intestines to my hellhounds. Got it?”

Brian nods, a bit dizzy from what just happened. 

“Show me this one’s office.” The devil waves a hand at the pile of ashes on the floor. “I’m here because I need a base of operations for the next step, after all.”

“Of course; please follow me.”

Brian leads Lucifer down the hallway just as the first sounds of demons killing the rest of the staff fill the building.

*

It only takes two days, but those days are enough for everything to go to shit. Gabriel curses the human race, the entire situation, everything. Oh well, maybe cursing the entire human race might be unfair – after all it’s only the politicians and governments that are fucking shit up. 

“Great idea, United Nations! Let’s declare martial law and instigate total chaos! ‘cause that’s totally not what my nutcase of a brother wants, noooo. He wants us all to stand together and fight him collectively so well done for undermining his plans so perfectly well!” Gabriel rages, kicking the coffee table with is foot. 

“Hey, easy there with the furniture, ‘s not like we can go out and grab another one right now,” Dean admonishes. 

As much as Gabriel hates to admit it, the squirrel has a point. They are _snowed in_. Actually, most of America is snowed in, and that in _July_. It’s freaking people out and makes it even harder for the communities to keep the peace. The National Guard is already patrolling the major cities to limit the vandalism and the looting but the authorities are loosing their grip, fast. 

Europe ain’t doing much better while South America and South Africa are a patchwork of either newly established dictators keeping their people in order or full out civil wars. While ice is covering the northern hemisphere, the southern one is has been heating up gradually and Gabriel shudders to imagine what’s gonna happen there if the trend persists. 

For their part, Dean, Cas and his group of stranded girls (and Crowley) have been working non-stop. Alex and Charlie are coordinating the website they established, answering questions and tweeting tips. 

Well, at least the military has salt rounds in their guns, so the government may not be completely incompetent. Probably should be thankful for small wonders. 

“How are things in Heaven?” Cas asks from where he is preparing holy water bombs for their stash. Alex’ idea has proven pretty effective against the hoard of demons that decided to attack Lebanon yesterday. 

Gabriel shrugs. “We ain’t got enough angels. Even if we still were at the top of our game, number wise… it wouldn’t be enough,” he adds pre-emptively. He knows how much his brother loves drowning himself in guilt. “But we’re doing what we can. Saving people, helping out. Building shelters and camps, which we guard against demons. Ain’t ideal but what else can we do? I don’t have the authority to just call ‘em all up to Heaven.”

“You’re sure no one will come, then?”

“You mean Daddy? Or Jesus? Nope. If they wanted, they would’ve made an appearance by now. We’re on our own, kiddo.”

“I just wish I could help more.”

“You are helping. And you’re keeping the general sane,” Gabriel adds with a wink in Dean’s direction. “Hate to say it but I’m still hoping for some crazy-ass plan that’ll put all to rights again from that boy. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“He’s doing his best.”

“GUYS!” Charlie interrupts with a screech. “TURN ON CNN!” 

A second later the redhead comes flying into the living room with her phone in her hand, Alex and Crowley trailing behind her. Dean, Cas and Gabriel are already here but Gabriel turned off the TV in his rage at the latest announcement. 

“What the fuck, Charlie?” Dean curses as the lady almost kicks him off the sofa in her hurry. 

She finds CNN fast enough and what they see then makes them all gasp collectively. 

Right, the President was going to make an announcement as to how they’ll be handling the situation from now on. So where there should be a press conference playing with the Commander in Chief in front of the Presidential seal, there is instead only a woman with Asian features, obviously a news anchor, but she’s trembling and there are drops of blood running down her cheek and probably clotting up her hair as well. 

In the background the podium is clearly visible in front of the White House emblem. Across the podium, half his skull missing and slumped at an unnatural angle, is the President. 

To the right side of the frame, Gabriel can see several Secret Service agents, eyes black and white shirts stained crimson. One of them barks something at the news anchor and she shudders, swallows and starts talking. 

“This is Anita Lee reporting live from the White House press room, where the President should have delivered a statement regarding the newest UN regulation urging its members to declare martial law. Before he could explain the position of the United States, however, an agent of his protection detail shot him in the head.” The woman on TV is loosing her fight against her tears and they flow down her cheeks, mixing with the blood and smearing her make-up. “An entire group of demons then massacred all people present including the President’s wife, his chief of staff and several other members of the White House in addition to almost a hundred journalists that were present. Lucifer has assumed responsibility for these actions today. He said, and I quote, ‘Humans need to understand that there is no salvation, there is only chaos and my star will shine across the world, covering it in darkness.’ He did not give any further explanation, though heavily hinted that the leader of the United States of America would not be the last heads of state that would roll in the following days.” 

The woman exhales shakily and swallows, unable to go on, though moments later her face contorts in pain. When he glances at the agents to her right, Gabriel sees one of the demons lower their hand. 

“The uncensored version of today’s events will be ready for viewing on Lucifer’s YouTube channel. You can also follow him on Twitter and Facebook for further updates. For questions or feedback, please use the hashtag ‘MorningstarRising’. This was Anita Lee from the White House.”

The screen goes black after that, leaving behind a shocked silence in its wake. 

Crowley is the first to comment. “Seems like good old Lucifer got himself a publicist. Though even I have to admit that it is a tad macabre to ask for feedback. Though this will have the desired effect.”

“And what’s that, getting the entire world to flip their shit?” Dean shouts, jumping to his feet and starting to pace. 

“Exactly. He aims to create chaos. Divide and conquer, only on a much larger scale.”

“Hate to admit it but our resident coward over here’s right,” Gabriel grumbles. “We’ll need to put something up on the website, use the time before Luci gets annoyed by whoever the hell is coordinating his online presence and takes out the servers.”

“We’ll get on it imme-“ Charlie starts but the last few syllables drown in the sound of Gabriel’s phone ringing. It’s Jamie. 

“Jamie, you’re on speaker – tell me you got good news.”

“Uh, not sure. Had a vision.”

“What did you see?”

“I didn’t see nothing per se, but I got a phrase stuck in my head.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath at the same time as they wait for Jamie’s response. 

“When Hell freezes over and Heaven boils, the father from the son recoils.”

Silence falls. 

“What, that’s it?” Dean asks, sounding as confused as Gabriel feels. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Great, we’re loosing down here and all God can be bothered to send through the Prophet Mail is awful poetry!”

“Dean –“

“Pops works in mysterious ways,” Gabriel admits, though he doubts Dean is hearing anything right now. 

“I mean it’s his fault we’re in this mess to begin with but instead of giving us something we can actually use -”

“Dean –“

“He gives us absolute crap like that that ain’t gonna help us for shit!”

“DEAN!”

Charlie apparently had enough of waiting patiently for Dean to cool down. When Dean spins around to her with an annoyed “What?” all she does is hold out her phone. 

Gabriel steps closer to get a better look. What he sees makes his eyes go wide. It’s a tweet, dated back a few hours, showing a [place-name sign](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1600298/thumbs/o-HELL-FROZE-OVER-facebook.jpg) for some city called ‘Hell’. On top of that the sign’s covered in ice and snow. Ain’t that convenient. 

“Jamie, thanks, that actually helps. I think,” Gabriel tells the prophet before saying his goodbye. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean suddenly exclaims, sounding more surprised than angry. When Gabriel looks up, the hunter’s bow is creased and his lips are parted. 

“What’s the matter, Dean-o? No more incredibly useful cursing and taking my father’s name in vain?”

“Shut up, I just remembered something…”

Without a single word of explanation, Dean rushes out of the room. Castiel and Gabriel share mystified glances, then follow with Alex and Charlie in tow. Crowley mirrors them, only at a more leisurely pace. 

They find Dean at the map table, frantically checking the outline of the United States. When he doesn’t find whatever the heck he’s looking for, he hits a key on the laptop that’s gone into power safe mode and pulls up Google maps. 

Gabriel thinks he’s catching on.

And indeed, when Dean whoops in victory and turns the laptop towards his audience, it shows a small island in a river splitting, and the name on the small patch of green reads ‘Heaven’.

“Merlin’s pants, Dean, that’s awesome!” Charlie shouts and slides into a chair. “Where is it?”

“Washington, DC. I remember it from a job a couple ‘o years back. It’s small but it’s right there south of the White House. We had a werewolf hiding out there; killed a bunch of Secret Service agents before I ganked it.”

“So what about the prophecy? We know what Heaven and Hell mean, so what about the son? And who’s the father?” Alex asks, pragmatic as ever. 

“Do you think it is our father?” Castiel asks, a sliver of hope showing in his gaze. 

Gabriel shakes his head. “Nope. Why’d he recoil from us? All we’ve done is try ‘n help. And if it’s referring to him and Luci, then it’s one stupid prophecy that doesn’t help jack.”

“It’s Crowley,” Alex says, pointing at the demon who has been watching with dethatched interest.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve been wondering why the False Prophet hasn’t done anything yet, so it must refer to him – he’s your son, isn’t he? Gavin?”

“Yes, but if you even think for one second that I will voluntarily go where he is –“

“Oh, we wouldn’t think that,” Gabriel sneers just as he uses his angelic speed to slap some devil’s trap handcuffs on the former King of Hell. Good thing Dean pretty much always carries some around. “Let’s pack out shit and let’s go!”

“Uh,” is Charlie’s reaction, paired with a pretty impressive deer-in-the-headlights look. “I’ll remain behind and man Twitter?” 

Gabriel exchanges a quick glance with Dean before they give her the okay. Gabriel doubts they could have removed her from her spot on that chair if they wanted to. Though she moves of her own volition to hand Alex a few tricks she apparently brought back from Oz. He’s heard it’s a great place, though Gabriel has never been himself. 

It doesn’t even take a five full minutes before Castiel, Dean, Alex and a reluctant Crowley are ready to be zapped across the continent and take on the False Prophet. 

Do what he might, but Gabriel can’t shake the feeling that something’s going to go terribly wrong. 

* 

Gabriel hates being right. Well, okay, not really – he loves being right, but only when it comes to nice things, not to the total destruction of a nation’s capital. 

They scouted the place, found it crawling with demonic vermin, retreated and formed a battle plan, which ended with Gabriel zapping up to Heaven to collect Jesse. 

“So, what now?” the kid asks. 

“Now we stop Gavin from working whatever mojo he’s planning on and ganking that son of a bitch,” Dean so crudely explains their delicate plan. 

Okay, maybe not so delicate. The apocalypse is just making Gabriel bitter, that’s all. 

“Guys,” Alex cuts in, “look!” 

She’s pointing at the water surrounding the island. Small clouds of mist are wafting upwards as the water heats up. 

“Alright, everyone hold on,” Gabriel bellows and transports each of the illustrious band of fighters (and Crowley) to their agreed positions on the island while giving the signal via angel radio. 

From then on it’s chaos.

*

Beth isn’t startled when suddenly the pastor’s daughter materializes next to her where she’s guarding Gavin as he is performing the ritual. She simply turns, blocks the blow Alex aimed at her, and throws her across the grass. 

“Must be nice to have friends in high places,” Beth sneers, “wouldn’t want you to suffer through the tedious healing process of bruises and cracked ribs, now, would we?”

“Why don’t you give me some new ones, then?” Alex spits back, jumping back onto her feet and throwing one of those bombs the survivors of yesterday’s attack on Lebanon warned Beth about. 

She evades it, yet barely – a few drops of holy water hit her face and she grimaces in pain. 

That second is enough for Alex to empty a round of salted bullets into her chest, though not enough to stop Beth from retaliating. 

Here they go again.

*

Jesse doesn’t get scared anymore, not for his own life anyway. After all that he’s been through, death doesn’t hold any power over him. 

The only thing that frightens him now is the prospect of loosing. 

_Not today_ , he decides, watching behind the cover of a bush how Alex distracts Beth, how Gabriel and the angels engage the advancing backup roaming the streets of Washington and how Dean and Cas take care of the remaining demons on the island and advancing towards the mainland. 

“It won’t work. We don’t know where Lucifer is, he’s bound to be watching,” Crowley complains behind him. 

“Shut up,” Jesse grinds out. His entire body is tense as he waits for the opening. 

“I’m just saying –“ Crowley starts again but it’s too late. Jesse’s path is unobstructed and he dashes forward, stretching out his hand and focusing his powers on Gavin where he is reciting the incantation. The water has started boiling moments ago – Jesse needs to put a stop to this, now. 

Gavin starts choking and Jesse squeezes his throat tighter. He may be the False Prophet but he’s still mostly human and able to die when his vessel croaks. 

Something slams into Jesse’s side and breaks his concentration. Gavin coughs but that’s all Jesse gathers before he hits the ground hard enough to leave a dent in the soil. 

“I don’t think so, Jesse.”

When he looks up he finds himself staring right into the eyes of Lucifer himself. 

_Damn._

*

Back in the bunker, Charlie is surrounded by two laptops, her phone and a TV showing live footage from news helicopters circling the White House. One of them has already been shot down by demons, though Charlie thinks she saw the passengers getting a ride on the angel express right before it hit the water. 

She can’t keep up with the messages and tweets, her fingers are hurting and she can feel a headache starting to spread from her temples while she divides her attention between typing out replies and watching the screen for any sign of success or failure, trying desperately to ignore the frantic alarm sounding from the bunker’s computers.

When the first head rises out of the boiling water, she gasps. 

When the second head follows, she whimpers. 

By the time the seventh head emerges she’s standing open-mouthed in front of the TV, listening to the panicked shouts of the reporter as the camera tracks the Beast’s path out of the water and onto the island. 

It’s large with seven horned heads and two big paws, sharp claws digging into the ground. Its tail has scales and a pointy tip, undoubtedly poisonous. It roars and the onlookers, visible as tiny dots on the riversides, begin to bolt in blind panic. 

Two seconds later the Beast pushes itself up on its hind legs and one of the heads snaps for the helicopter. 

The last thing the camera records is the gaping mouth of the largest head, throat dark like an abyss leading right into hell. 

Just then the bunker starts to rattle, making Charlie sway on her feet. 

“That can’t be good,” she murmurs to herself. 

Another quake spurs her into action. She packs up her laptop, her bag, a few choice weapons and some books from the library. By the time she remembers her phone in the living room there is black smoke drifting in slowly through the crack in the bunker door on top of the staircase that wasn’t there when Charlie last looked at it. 

High time to get the hell outta here. 

*

Crowley is frozen in place when his moment comes. 

Jesse is battling the Beast after Gabriel took over the devil and Gavin is gasping, resting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. 

It is now or never. Crowley has a job, but doing it means exposing himself to Lucifer and that is just a lousy idea. 

Bollocks. He is dead either way, so he may as well go down pretending to be a braver tosser than he actually is. 

“Oi, Gavin,” he shouts just as he throws the hex bag Charlie handed to him for the occasion. 

It hits Gavin in the head, bursts open and showers his son in a rain of red – is that _glitter_? It falls to the floor, forming a circle around his son, locking him firmly in place, no matter how hard he tries to escape. _Didn’t think Red had it in her_ , Crowley muses with a victorious smirk. 

“What did ya do to me?!” Gavin shouts, obviously in pain. Good. 

“What did _I_ do to _you_? You tricked me! You abused the little sentiment I still had for you and went on to stab me in the back!” Crowley snarls, anger filling his body from head to toe. “I should have let you drown!”

“Ya should’ve, ya bastard!” Gavin gasps, his face flushing, either from pain or from fury or both. “Better than strolling around without any cash like a man out ‘o time! And ya weren’t there to help me! What’d ya think would happen, eh? I’d make my way, have a great life?”

“If you weren’t such a failure, you would have.”

“Oh, but I did – look at me, Dad, look! I’m the False Prophet, I’m all powerful now and ya can’t stop me!”

“Oh, Gavin.” Crowley sighs, then draws the gun that Winchester gave him. He should probably feel worse about putting a bullet through his own son’s head, but what can he say? He always was and always will be a bloody awful father. 

“What, ya gonna shoot your own son?”

“Goodbye, Gavin.”

He pulls the trigger without uttering another word – no apology, no grand plea for forgiveness. It’s almost cathartic in a way, even if a part he will never ever mention to anyone hurts as the bullet makes contact with Gavin’s skull, splattering brain matter all over the grass before his son falls back, eyes lifelessly staring upwards. 

Somewhere on the mainland the Beast roars and Crowley turns around just quick enough to see the White House crumble underneath its large paws. 

Well, his job is done. Crowley decides to leave the cleanup to those who aren’t on Lucifer’s shitlist. 

*

Castiel and Dean are fighting off demons to give the angels room to get the people out of the already damaged White House. 

As far as Castiel knows, the East Wing has already been flattened underneath the Beast’s weight and it is only logical to assume the rest will follow. 

His fears prove justified. 

The only problem is that Dean and he are standing incredibly close to the collapsing building so when it starts to disintegrate, Castiel grabs Dean by the collar and pulls him into the closest reprieve he spotted – the North Lawn Fountain.

*

Gabriel knows that the moment the White House falls into ruin is the point of no return. Henceforth there be chaos. 

All he can do now is make sure Jesse gains the upper hand. Kid’s doing good though seven heads for one teenager is a bit much. He soars in from the side while the monster’s attention is all on the scrawny figure in front of it, then rams his archangel blade through the side of one skull. 

It smokes out, but not before jerking wildly and almost striking Gabriel down. Lucifer is on him again immediately and everything becomes a blur of wings, heads, horns, flickering eyes and pain before Gabriel passes out. 

*

Jesse pushes down the worry for Gabe and sprints towards the patch of grass where the angel’s blade landed as he dropped it after Lucifer slammed into him for the millionth time. 

He sends it flying through the air while he takes off, the Beast hot on his heels as he runs down 16th Street which is thankfully empty except for a few cars that get crushed underneath the monster’s heavy body. 

Only one head remains and Jesse braces himself as he grinds to a halt, whirls around and propels the blade right into the space between the last two horns. He watches the Beast fall as if in slow-motion, chocking on a roar and eyes flickering one last time before smoking out, then crashing into the concrete and cracking the street open. 

Jesse gasps. He did it. The Beast is dead. 

As soon as he can form a coherent thought again, he sends a prayer to Hannah who appears two seconds later and transports him back to safety. 

*

Beth is standing over a bloodied and bruised Alex, ready to deliver the killing blow when she senses the Beast’s last roar, then her boss’ command to retreat. 

Her split second hesitation is enough to give the girl an opening, smashing a holy water bomb into Beth’s face. 

She isn’t proud of how fast she flees. _Next time_ , she promises herself. Next time that huntress will burn for good.

*

“Oi, Mulan,” Crowley shouts when he finally spots a member of the squirrel squad. She looks a little worse for wear but she still has the use of her hands, so she’ll be able to get the bloody cuffs off him. 

“That glare would be more impressive if you didn’t like as if that demon just put you through a grinder.”

She looks unimpressed and staggers to her feet. “No, I’m perfectly fine, don’t help me up,” she drawls, though her statement ends in a pain-induced hiss. 

“Remove my jewelry and I’ll give you a lift back to the bunker; then you can whine to your girlfriend.”

Alex’ head snaps up. “What?!”

“Oh, we’re politely ignoring the way Red’s drooling over you?”

“She’s not –“

“She is, and no one cares, now get a move on, I see demons heading our way.”

Kahr gets the cuffs off just in time for the first mindless soldier to reach them. Crowley snaps his fingers and the bloke’s hands come up to clasp his constricting throat before he grabs the huntress’ arm and teleports them back to Lebanon –

\- where they almost run into Red, who’s clutching two bags and a knife. 

“Charlie! What happened?” is all Alex gets the chance to ask before the place where the bunker should be blows up in vibrant green flames. 

*

Dean breaks through the surface and coughs up a few ounces of Fountain water. 

“What the hell, Cas?” he wheezes as his partner pulls himself up next to him. 

“The White House, Dean,” Cas pants, pointing at where one of the most monumental sights of Washington should be standing. 

“Fuck me.” 

“I doubt this is the time or the place,” Cas deadpans, making Dean chuckle despite the terrible situation. 

A blink of an eye later they’re not neck deep in water anymore but standing, and not in a park but in a street. 

Haschmal steps back, nose bleeding but otherwise unharmed. 

“What the hell?” Dean complains because seriously, he can only stand so much angel express in one day. 

“The Beast was about to trample you, I had to get you out.”

“In that case, what Dean means is ‘thank you’,” Cas says pointedly, only to be interrupted by a dying roar. 

Haschmal holds up a hand briefly, blinks out of existence and is back a moment later. Dean would be getting whiplash if he hadn’t seen angels do that for the past hour or two (however the fuck long this fight’s been going on). 

“The Beast is dead. The Antichrist is safe.”

“Well, then get Gabriel, he can zap us back to the bunker and talk strategy.”

Haschmal is gone immediately. That’s how Dean likes the Bible Squad – ready to do what he tells them to. 

Meanwhile, Cas is smiling at him. “Jesse did it.”

“Boy sure as hell did,” Dean agrees, sneaking an arm around Cas’ waist and pulling him closer. The only thing that stops Dean from placing a kiss on Cas’ lips is the flutter of wings and the sound of Haschmal clearing his throat. 

“Uh. There seems to be a problem.”

“What?”

“Gabriel. He… Lucifer took him.”

A beat. 

“Shit.”

*

Gabriel squeezes his eyes even shutter than before when the first thing he feels upon waking up is intense _pain_. Not just headache-pain; real, hitting-the-eleven-on-a-scale-from-one-to-ten kinda pain. 

“Ouch,” he whines, lifting his hand to his head to clutch at his temple. 

Or at least he tries. And fails. Because his hands are bound... 

To a chair, as it turns out when he pries his eyes open despite their protests. 

“Hello, brother,” a too familiar voice greets him.

Yeah. Gabriel’s feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong? He totally jinxed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three or four more chapters to go until the grand finale (with more screentime for Dean and Cas)! I hope you’re excited... 
> 
> And I hereby promise to myself and to you, dear readers, that **I will finish this fic before Supernatural resumes in January**. Maybe even before New Year’s, if I can manage :) How’s that sound? 
> 
> Trivia:  
> \- Brian Remy is a homage to Brian Kinney from _Queer as Folk_ and Remy Danton form _House of Cards_ , by the way.  
> \- I blame the Beast destroying the White House on the amount of political TV drama I have consumed in the past two weeks.  
> \- The fact that Hell freezes over was inspired by it actually happening ([x](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/roadtrippers/polar-vortex-causes-hell-_b_4564497.html),[x](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1600298/thumbs/o-HELL-FROZE-OVER-facebook.jpg)).  
> \- And [this](http://www.lovethetruth.com/jis_images/beast_of_revelation.jpg) is the drawing that inspired the Beast since it is pretty close to the description given in Revelation.


	19. Episode 18 - The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is in Lucifer’s hands, leaving heaven leaderless. Dean, Cas, Charlie and Alex are separated while the world descends into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated Merry Christmas to everyone who is celebrating! I hope this chapter will make your holidays more exciting either way :)
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. (Although I might have found someone to fill this position.)

Should anyone ask him later, then Crowley will blame continuous exposure to the Winchesters over the span of several years. There’s no other explanation as to why his first reaction to the explosion is grabbing the two women and teleporting them to the other side of the city where the woods grant them enough cover. 

“What’s going on?” Alex immediately shoots at Red, who’s trembling slightly. 

“I don’t know – they were just able to enter, as if the warding was nothing! I grabbed the most important things and ran for it. Why’re you back? Where’s Dean and Cas? I’ve been reading what’s going on on Twitter but it’s pretty incoherent and I –“

“If you’d let us get a word or two in, Little Red, you’d know more,” Crowley sneered, relishing the protest the nickname evokes. 

“I’m way more badass than that little skank! I could take down a werewolf! If I had to,” she adds a little softer and then, thankfully, falls silent so that they can fill her in. 

Crowley has barely finished his epic tale of how he single-handedly defeated the False Prophet before Charlie’s phone rings. 

“It’s Dean,” she informs them. “Hey Dean – wait, I’ll put you on speaker.”

_“So you’re not alone Alex make it back to the bunker okay?”_

“Yes,” the girl in question confirms. 

“Oh, no inquiry about my wellbeing?” Crowley drawls, voice dripping with fake hurt (though admittedly, it might sting a little – he was their biggest asset! He pulled his own weight even if he didn’t have to!). 

_“Can it, douchebag. Let the grown-ups speak. We’ve got a problem.”_

“You and me both, amigo.”

_“Well, I got a kidnapped archangel.”_

“Maybe Lucifer just wants a happy family reunion?” Crowley quips, yet it goes ignored. 

“I see your kidnapped archangel and I raise you a blown-up bunker,” Alex cuts in, obviously growing rather impatient. 

_“What?!”_

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Charlie explains, “but there’s nothing I could’ve done! They just… entered. My best guess is that Lucifer worked some mojo so that his gooney could cheat the wards.”

_“Damn it! How’s my baby?”_

“Huh?”

_“The Impala, Charlie. What the hell happened to my car?!”_

“I-I don’t know, Dean.”

A string of curses resonates through the line that leaves even Crowley impressed, and something about never letting the angel squad beam him anywhere in his life, ever. 

“Seriously, squirrel? You kiss your lover with that mouth?”

_“I do a lot more things to my lover with that mouth, now shut up or I’ll trade you to Lucifer in exchange for him restoring my car.”_

“I’m sorry, Dean, but I really don’t think… The entire bunker went up in flames, including the garage.”

A beat of silence. _“Just so you know – if Dorothy bitches about her motorcycle you get to tell her,”_ Dean snarks, laying on the carefree sarcasm a tad thick. Either way Crowley would’ve seen right through him. Every demon knows the best way to incur Dean Winchester’s wrath is to mess with his precious baby. 

“I hate to interrupt this incredibly productive conversation,” Alex complains, “but right now we’re alone in the woods with Crowley, Heaven is leaderless and we kind of need a game-plan.”

_“Alright, alright. From the looks of it it’d be best if Cas and I stayed here a bit, help with the locals since they’re all pretty much flippin’ their shit. So either you guys join up or look of a safe place, best one with Wi-Fi. We’re gonna need your service now more than ever. Yours, too, Alex.”_

“Right now no one knows where we are,” Crowley speaks up, “and personally I’d like to keep it that way. I suggest we stay split up and I see to it that wicked sisters here stay safe and in exchange you don’t trade me for a car, how’s that, Dean-o?”

_“You ain’t got any authority here, Crowley.”_

Alex groans, snatching the cell phone away from Charlie. The redhead’s breath hitches as the other woman’s fingers almost touch her own, though Kahr never notices. Crowley mentally chuckles. 

“Listen, Dean – I’m the last person to listen to a demon but Crowley has a point. We’ll be open targets in DC and we don’t have the protection from Lucifer’s army that you guys have. So we’re going to look for a new base of operations and then call you back.”

 _“Aye aye, ma’am!”_ is Winchester’s reply but before the huntress can terminate the call, Crowley nudges her with an elbow. 

“Yes, alright – and Crowley will not be a bargaining chip in your quest for a car.”

“Thank you.”

 _“Fine,”_ Dean grumbles. _“You better keep ‘em safe, you got that?”_

“Yes, I swear on the charred remains of your baby.”

There is another growl but Alex cuts the connection before Dean can get another word in. Crowley chuckles as Kahr starts listing possible hide-outs, thinking with a wistful smile that the Impala is definitely a step up from the three pigs his mother sold him for.

*

*

While Dean is on the phone with their sisters in arms, Castiel does his best to help his own siblings to the best of his ability. 

Washington has been slipping more and more into chaos while the angels try their best to retrieve as many humans as possible from the debris that the Beast of the Sea left behind while a knot of people with cameras and microphones are gathering around the monster’s corpse. 

Hannah, meanwhile, is hyperventilating – which should be impossible seeing as angels do not require oxygen. 

“Calm down,” Castiel tells her, but she shakes her head vehemently. 

“How? Gabriel is gone! What are we supposed to do? He always knew the best course of action –“

“And you will do your best to do him justice, Hannah.”

“I cannot –“

“Yes, you can, Hannah, and you will. He regarded you as his second in command. Our brothers and sisters will agree and accept your orders.”

She takes a shuddering breath, glancing around the wrecked street. “So much destruction, Castiel. So much death. We cannot stop it.”

“Gabriel never promised that either. Keep up what you have been doing – help the people, coordinate with Miss Kahr and Miss Bradbury. Let Dean and me worry about finding a way to rescue Gabriel and to defeat Lucifer.”

Her features soften at his words, a tentative smile tugging at her lips. “You place a lot of faith in that human, Castiel.”

“He is the Righteous Man.”

“Not this time. Someone else broke the first seal.”

“I know. But he is…” Castiel trails off as his eyes find the man in question as he is snapping something at the phone in his hands. “He is the best chance we have and he will not fail us.”

Hannah is quiet for a moment. “It must be wonderful, feeling like you do.”

She might not be calling it by name, yet Castiel hears her actual message clearly, so he nods since it is the truth. 

“Very well then. Let’s get back to it.”

With that, Hannah squares her shoulders and if Castiel were still able to see her wings, he would probably see them extend. She flutters off after murmuring a “Thank you” and Castiel wanders over to his partner, whose face is a battlefield of warring emotions. 

“What happened?”

Dean’s expression hardens immediately, as if he had flicked a switch. “Charlie and Alex got to find a new HQ ‘cause somehow demons blew up the bunker. Including my car.”

“Oh no, Dean, I’m sorry!” 

Dean seems surprised at Castiel’s reaction, even more so when Castiel wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a tight hug. But he knows what that car means to Dean – and what it means to himself as well. He has spent long periods in the car, trying to understand how his partner can feel so at home behind the wheel. Castiel never quite understood the appeal, yet having Dean beside him always was sufficient for himself. 

Some of the tension oozes out of Dean’s shoulders after a few moments and by the time he squeezes Castiel’s shoulder in unspoken thanks, Dean has pulled himself together again. 

“So are we going to join them on their quest for a new base?”

“Nope, I guess we’re needed here, especially with Gabe outta the picture.”

“Yes. Hannah feels herself lacking the leadership qualities required to fill in, yet I seem to have given her an adequate pep talk.”

Dean smiles and – mature adult that he is – ruffles his hair. “You’re good at those. Come on, there’s civilians milling about that Beast and that can’t be good.”

The first reporters, none of them the woman from the White House press room as Castiel notes, spot them when they reach the Beast’s rear. It is even more impressive up close and Castiel barely resists the urge to touch its scales, glistening wetly in the sunlight even though the last breath has left their owner long ago. 

“What’s you plan, Dean?”

“No clue, but what better way to get the message out than those sharks, eh?”

“Dean –“ Castiel tries again, even more confused now, but his partner is already climbing – actually _climbing_ – onto one of the enormous horned heads of the Beast, maneuvering past the hole Gabriel’s blade left in its side and calling the herds in front of the thing to attention. 

He cuts a beautiful figure and Castiel decides that Dean would have made for a great general in ancient times. 

“Listen up!” he shouts and immediately all cameras and microphones are being re-directed at him. “I’m sure you got questions and I ain’t got all the answers but I’ll explain this best as I can. This here,” he taps his foot for emphasis, “is the Beast of the Sea, summoned by the First Prophet. As you can see, the Beast is dead, as is the Prophet, but we couldn’t stop it from destroying most of the capitol, so sorry about that. Now I got no idea what form of government or police or fuck if I know we still got, but it’s gonna be a shit show. There’s a few people out there who know what we’re dealing with and how to fight ‘em, so stick to them if you find one. If not, I heard there’s this hashtag called ‘MorningStarRising’ and they’ll help you – they’re friends of mine, they know their shit, alright? Other than that be sure to stock up on salt, iron and holy water, and there’s a website that’s got more intel that I’ve got time to give ‘ya right now.” Dean tells them the web address, his chest heaving as he takes a deep breath. “Capiche?”

Castiel can see the reporters opening their mouths to shoot of a million or more further questions, though they are interrupted by the sound of someone slow-clapping in the distance. 

Along with the entire group, Castiel turns towards the noise, his pulse speeding up at the thought that it could be Lucifer – yet it is merely a tall, dark-skinned man in a bespoke suit, smiling pleasantly at his onlookers. 

“What an inspiring speech, Mr. Winchester,” the man say, though his praise rings false to Castiel’s ears. “If I were one of the millions of people out there without a clue about what’s going on, I would be completely reassured by your address just there. Really.”

“Listen up, douchebag, you got something to say, just freakin’ say it. Maybe start with who the fuck you are.” 

“Oh, how rude of me. Apologies,” the man sneers. Castiel decides he dislikes this man a great deal. “My name is Brian Remy, I’m Lucifer’s press secretary.”

“Lucifer has a press secretary?” Castiel cannot help but wonder out loud before he thinks better of it. 

Remy turns towards him, sending him a blinding smile full of too-white teeth. “Of course he has. He won’t coordinate his social media campaign himself, now, will he? A former angels such as yourself should know things like that.”

“Listen, dickhead,” Dean snaps before Castiel can voice his indignation, jumping down form the Beast head and closing the distance between him and Remy. “You can take all your ‘follow Satan’ bullshit, ‘cause at the end of the day Lucifer doesn’t give one flying fuck about you or any of us humans. You ain’t believing any of that crap he’s selling about letting you live, do you?”

“How eloquent you are. Really, I can understand why you are the only weapon Heaven still has.”

Dean is already balling his fist but a hand on his elbow stops him from taking a swing. Castiel doesn’t let go then either. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Remy addresses the still rolling cameras. “I admit that there cannot be any guarantees that following the devil in this apocalypse will keep you safe forever. However, it will exempt you from a gruesome death at the hands – or claws – of the various monsters that will find their way onto the earth to wreak havoc. I urge you to consider which option will bring you less trauma during the next days and weeks: This man’s way,” he lists, pointing at Dean, “which requires untrained civilians to fight tooth and nail against an unknown enemy they have never believed existed and against whom they are completely powerless; or our way. Declare your allegiance to Lucifer by carving an upside down cross into your skin where it is visible and no demon will harm you. All relevant details can be found on our YouTube channel and our social media platforms. Do you have any questions?”

The mob of reporters immediately explodes with inquiries. Dean looks ready to take this man’s head off, so Castiel drags him off, away from the knot of people. 

“Dean, he isn’t worth it. Lucifer will crush him as soon as he isn’t worth keeping around any more. Safe your energy for something more important.”

“Like what, Cas? What the fuck is left for us to do?”

“Helping people, Dean! Hunting things! And while we’re doing that, we will figure out a way to end Lucifer and stop this madness.”

Dean looks ready to argue, though Castiel captures his lips with his own before the hunter can argue. It might not be the fairest tactic, yet it proves to be effective. 

“That was cheating,” Dean murmurs, slightly breathless. 

“Apologies.”

“You know, you’re honestly really good at these pep talks, Cas. Come on, let’s get outta here.”

They wander off, Brian Remy still answering the reporters’ questions behind them. 

*

**Abandoned server building, Louisville – one and a half weeks later**

Back in Oz, when Charlie had to choose between staying there with Dorothy and returning to earth in order to help her honorary brothers with the apocalypse, it was an easy one to make. 

She expected horror, fire and brimstone. _And_ she expected the Winchesters to find a solution that would put an end to the entire thing. 

What she didn’t expect was sitting in an abandoned server building in Kentucky, protecting the servers with her life to maintain the online services she’s providing, while the world around her comes crashing down in a cascade of hellfire and anarchy. 

Sure, Charlie has it good in their strong building with electricity, running water and two skilled fighters. Crowley’s proven useful with food runs and Alex – well, she’s shown she can talk kids down from panic attacks, stand up to douchebags in the neighborhood who wouldn’t ward their houses and keeps training and looking so hot that Charlie can barely concentrate when she does it. 

But other than that? The world’s become a shit show, just like Dean said. 

For the past week and a half, governments all across the globe have been loosing all their common sense as well as their grip on the population. They declared martial law, the USA federalized the National Guard and they’re now using military troops on home soil and one after the other, the countries closed their borders, with the lone exception of Canada. 

At the same time the snow that’s been covering most of the Northwestern hemisphere has melted, only to be replaced by boiling heat. During the third week of August in Kentucky, temperatures in the 90ies aren’t uncommon, though they’ve been climbing steadily and aren’t expected to stop doing so any time soon. Other places around the globe like the Eastern regions report incredible heat waves to the point that water’s becoming scarce. The first conflicts have already erupted and Charlie is scared every time she checks Twitter for updates about the unrest. 

Not that America is faring any better – while only last week the law and common sense still applied, ever since the weekend people’ve been behaving more like monsters than humans. 

“How’s the world?” Alex’ voice interrupts Charlie’s depressing musings. 

“Still spinning.” She tries for a smile, though fails utterly. “How’re the hunters?”

A dark shadow passes over Alex’ face. “They’re getting killed left and right. We’re down by a third that I know of; I still haven’t reached nine others and those who remain are starting to complain that it’s no use having a system when everyone should start looking out for themselves instead.”

“Damn, those bitches.”

“Yeah.”

“We know any estimates of total losses?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I guess the governments are all a bit too occupied to bother with statistics. Why?”

Alex shrugs. “I guess I’d just like to know there’s still more humans than monsters on this world.”

“Then stay away from Twitter, the stories ain’t nice.”

The huntress flops down on a chair with a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand across her eyes. Then completely out of the blue, Alex asks, “Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it? Fighting like we do?”

“Well…”

“Because I mean, we know from the angels that God’s real. He’s just up and left. So if he gave up on us, why should we keep fighting?”

Charlie can see where she’s coming from – she really can. In the past ten, eleven days she’s wished more than once to be back in Oz, during a short night on her improvised fort of blankets when everything was too dark and too hopeless. But…

“What’s the alternative? Do nothing? Watch as those kids two streets over get torn open by hellhounds? Sit back and say ‘fuck it all’?”

“Well, maybe!” Alex snubs, jumping to her feet. “If God can just wash his hands of all of this, why not us, too? Instead we’re running around, trying to put a plaster on a severed arm and it won’t stop the bleeding no matter how hard we press! Where’s the Second Coming? Where’s Judgment Day? If it’s all going to end anyway once Lucifer’s through with the earth, then why not put us all out of our misery?”

Charlie has no answer, no words to make it better. So she does the only thing she can do – pull Alex in a hug and stifle the panic she feels when the strongest woman she knows breaks down into sobs. 

*

**Remy & Vause building, Washington, DC **

“You think he’ll come?” Lucifer asks into the room. Brian ignores the questions since it’s not directed at anyone other than the archangel, who is strapped to an office chair, unable to escape. 

“If you ask me that one more time, bro, I swear to Dad, I’ll end this world myself and rob you of all your toys.”

“That’s what you think this is? A childish tantrum?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve always been soooo mature,” Gabriel mocks. “‘Daddy loves me the best! Humans are stupid!’ Come on, change the tune already.”

“I did what all of you were too blinded by faith to try.”

“Yeah, and now Daddy’s gone and he still doesn’t give you the attention you want. Your life must suck, Luci.”

Brian tunes them out at that point. The first time he heard them arguing about God like he is a real person instead of a concept that Brian though ridiculous until a few weeks prior, it was confusing and exhilarating. Now it’s simply annoying and distracting him from the important work that he and his team are doing. 

His subordinates are all skilled workers, upside-down crosses etched into their skin and ready to work eighteen hours a day to ensure they’re not deemed superfluous. Nothing motivates the workforce like the threat of being burnt alive. 

“Sir?” One particularly dedicated young woman (single mother of two, oh-so keen on protecting her own) steps closer, showing him her tablet screen. 

It’s hard to make sense of the image on display – it looks like some sort of rift; completely dry and void of wildlife. 

“What am I looking at?”

“The Euphrates.”

“What?”

“This is the first picture that’s been posted. The Euphrates has dried out.”

Suddenly, the tall, suit-clad form of Lucifer himself is standing next to them, pulling the tabled from the woman’s hands. She shivers, yet stands her ground. 

The devil cackles at the screen, his voice full of unadulterated glee. “This is precious! Gabe, you gotta see this…”

He zaps away to wave the image in front of the archangel’s face while Brian and the woman follow on foot. 

“How very Revelation of you,” Gabriel drawls, rolling his eyes. 

“Isn’t it?” Lucifer turns around and addresses Brian again as he hands him back the tablet. “Keep an eye on it, I want to know the second that the river fills with blood.”

The woman gives an aborted whimper and Brian can’t stop his eyes from widening dramatically. Apparently, though, Lucifer is feeling indulgent for he doesn’t chastise them for their response, however limited it was, and instead explains, “Drying up their water resources was the last blow. Next stop: outright civil war, and it will claim so many victims that the riverbed fills with their blood. I’m counting on it. Carry on.”

Brian swallows hard but goes back to work. 

*

Jamie _hates_ being a prophet. He really hates it – waiting for a vision that doesn’t come, hoping for a key to safe the world that simply refuses to be found. All he gets to do is watch his country go down the drain, with criminals thinking it’s their land now, and all those without the means to protect themselves constantly in fear of death. It’s like the Southside, only expanded. 

He’d help, go down there in a heartbeat but nope, Hannah’s ordered him to stay because it would suck to loose the only prophet they have, even if he’s climbing the walls since it’s all he gets to do. 

Even Jesse helps, accompanying angels on rescue missions. It was his idea to establish large refugee camps near storage buildings or in cities with intact supermarkets. Half of all the angels are tasked with protecting those facilities all over the world against Lucifer and his gooneys and it seems to be working and keeping the death toll down. 

It still sucks for Jamie. Yet when the next vision finally hits him, he remembers why he complained so much… it _hurts_ , but even while his skin feels like it’s on fire Jamie tells himself that it’s better this way – this way he get’s to contribute. 

The vision hasn’t been over for even ten seconds when he reaches for the phone Hannah gave him. It takes a bit to manage a conference call since his hands are still shaking but then, both Dean, Cas and Charlie and Alex are on the line with him. 

“Please tell me it’s something useful,” Dean demands without even bothering with a greeting. 

“I guess? I mean… I saw volcanoes erupt. Lots of them, and it’ll be disastrous!”

“Shit,” Charlie curses. “Do you know where? I’ll get a warning out asap.”

“Like, uh, Central America? A whole bunch of them were in Guatemala, near the Pacific.”

Dean grumbles something unintelligible and Jamie hears Castiel ask him what’s up. 

“I’m saying this doesn’t give us jack! What’re we supposed to take from that, you tell me that! Death and destruction, and not a single fucking clue about how we’re gonna stop these damn fuckers…”

“Wait, Dean – that’s it!” Castiel practically shouts. 

“What?” echo Charlie, Alex and Jamie simultaneously. It would have been funny if the situation were any different. 

“Death! Jamie said the eruptions would claim countless victims. With a toll so high, I am sure that Death himself will appear like he did in Chicago.”

“So what? You’re thinking that you Dad’s telling us to bug the guy after all? Ask for his help?”

“Maybe. I do not see any other reason for this vision. Except we are missing something that will allow us to prevent it from happening at all.”

Jamie shakes his head, then realizes that they can’t see him. “No, nothing like that.”

“You sure, kid?”

“Yeah! Who’s the prophet here?”

“Alright, alright. So we’re going to… Guatemala? Where even is that place?”

“South of Mexico.”

“Well, one of the angel’s gonna give us a ride,” Dean grumbles and Jamie recalls what he heard about the bunker and how all the cars got destroyed. That must have been an awesome car if a guy like Dean’s still sad about loosing it. 

“Okay boys, you do that,” Charlie interrupts Jamie’s thoughts. “But I also got something – might be nothing but Jamie, you could run it by Hannah, okay?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I’ve been getting really strange news from India and other Hindu countries. Like people disappearing or gangsters frozen in place so that people can escape them. Maybe the angels wanna look into that?”

“I’ll tell them,” Jamie promises and wishes Dean and Castiel luck with their mission. 

*

**Chennai, India**

Jeenal is running, incredibly glad for the trousers she is wearing. She would not have been able to escape her pursuers this quickly in a Sari, that is for sure. 

All she knows it that the group of three – two men, one woman – have black eyes, which was her cue to flee. She has read everything she could find online in the past week and a half and asked her parents to buy salt for her protection, though they refused. 

“Don’t believe that propaganda,” her mother told her. 

So Jeenal snuck out through the back door in order to buy some herself, only to run into the very creatures she sought to protect herself against. 

Oh, the irony. 

She is a fast runner, has always been. Additionally she knows these streets, has been playing here ever since she was a child and her nannies thought she needed fresh air. What the demons behind her are lacking in knowledge, however, they make up for in supernatural skill. 

“Hm, what are you going to do now, young lady?” the one with the beard drawls as he blinks into existence in front of her, blocking her path. 

She turns, only to crash into the woman with the short hair, who pushes her off, propelling her right into the grip of the third thug, Mr. Tall-And-Muscular. 

“Let me go!”

“How about… no?” the woman sneers. 

“I have money! I can give you whatever you want!”

“We’re not interested in money, sweet girl,” purrs the man holding her just as the one in front of Jeenal raises a ritualistic knife. 

She can’t help it. She screams as loud as she can, though the demons don’t seem to mind. 

Then suddenly, just as the bearded man is about to stab her, he freezes mid-movement. One second later the tip of a sword appears in the middle of his chest and he falls forward, revealing the weapon sticking out of his back. 

“What was that!” the female demon cries, her eyes darting around frantically. Jeenal hears her savior before she sees him – the wicker of a horse from above, and the next thing she knows is that the animal has descended from the rooftop of the house behind her and crushed the woman beneath their hooves. 

“Let me go or I’ll kill her!” threatens Tall-And-Muscular, which is when the rider turns his animal around, granting Jeenal a first glimpse. 

Her breath catches in her throat. It cannot be. And yet here he is, saving her from the filth of the world. 

A flick of his wrist and the Sword of Astra is back in his grip. He doesn’t use it, instead he tightens the reins and barges forward, sending the demon scattering for cover and dropping Jeenal in the process. 

The demon looses his head and the man on the white horse offers Jeenal a hand up and asks her to come with him. 

*

“KALKI?!” Lucifer rages when he sees the Tweet for the first time, sent by some girl called Jeenal. “You’re telling me that he’s down here and attacking _my men_?!”

The woman in front of him, whatever her name is, is trembling like a leaf in the wind, stuttering out a response. “I’m s-s-sorry, b-b-ut it looks t-that w-way.”

“ARGH!” 

The rage fills every cell of his vessel, every last pore, turning his blood into furious acid. There is only one small voice, in fact more of a mental tug, that’s pulling at him, preventing him from leveling this entire building and dancing on its remains. 

_Stop it,_ he snaps at his own mind. You don’t know what this means. 

_Sure – Kalki is the last incarnation of Vishnu._ Of course the little Winchester knows this, he is so predictable. _He’s gonna gather up all the good and faithful people and kill everyone of your team who gets in the way._

_Annoying know-it-all,_ Lucifer snarls, then succeeds in stifling Sam’s protests. But his anger is less intense now, more annoyed and really, why should he, the Morningstar himself, be intimidated by some lame Hindu God? 

“Where was the last sighting?” he asks the woman who looks even more terrified now than she was a few seconds ago. 

“Chennai, Southwest India,” she manages, though it’s a struggle. 

“Leave Kalki to me. Brian –“ the man in question takes a step towards him immediately – “prepare a press release or whatever it is you do. The Hindu Gods have long forfeited their right to his planet and if they decide to interfere with my plans, I will not hold back and smite them and all their followers.”

“Of course. Do you wish to sign off on it once you return?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

The next moment he is gone from DC and on an empty street somewhere in India. He closes his eyes, stretches out his wings on another plane, tries to feel for a powerful presence. 

He finds Kalki several hundred miles further south, engaging ten demons who have rounded up a group of children. 

“These are my followers, Lucifer.”

“Is that a way to greet me? You should show me some respect, Kalki – after all I am the last face you will see on this earth.”

“And what a bland face it is,” the god mocks, swirling his fancy sword to, what? Show how pathetic he can look? Lucifer chuckles at his own jab since Sam’s being quiet. 

“This is my true vessel. I am more powerful than I ever was. You stand no chance against me.”

“Let’s find out,” Kalki declares gravely and his horse rises onto its hind legs before galloping towards him. 

And so it begins.

*

“Damn it!” 

“Charlie?! Everything okay?” 

When Alex is in the computer room, both of the redhead’s hands are covering her mouth as her eyes are fixed on the screen. It’s a video, playing on a loop. Really just a few seconds but it’s enough. 

On screen Sam – _no, not Sam_ , Alex reprimands herself, it’s just his body, that’s Lucifer. So on screen Lucifer is fighting with a tall, bluish figure on a white horse brandishing a sword. 

“Who is that?”

“I’m not sure – the description says maybe Kalki-“

“Kalki?! The Destroyer?”

“Wait, what?”

Alex quickly explains the little that she knows of Hindu mythology, a little dazed because if Lucifer is real, doesn’t that mean that God truly is the one and only God? What is a Hindu god doing here all of a sudden? Are all gods real? 

Before Alex can fully come to terms with her crisis of faith, however, Charlie is pulling up another video. Then another. Then Twitter. All of them have pictures and brief clips, mostly blurry but some less so. 

The two warriors bounce around the globe with no apparent pattern. They are both powerful and leave destruction in their wake – accidental in Kalki’s case, fully intended in Lucifer’s. 

The final showdown transpires on the West coast of Central America, somewhere south of Mexico. Kalki does manage to wound his opponent, nicking Sam’s – _Lucifer’s_ – cheek. Blood trickles down his face though it is nothing fatal, in contrary to the stab wound the devil inflicts on the god with Kalki’s very own sword. 

In the seven minutes it took for Lucifer’s victory to happen and the thirty second clip to find its way online, two hundred and seventy-five Tweets reach Charlie’s account, all saying the exact same thing: Because of Lucifer, the volcanoes on the coast of Guatemala are erupting. 

All of them. 

Charlie and Alex share a panicked look and Alex has hardly ever felt more helpless in her life.

*

When the shit hits the fan, it hits the fan extremely fast. 

Dean and Cas’ve been in the Guatemala coastal region for barely two hours, scourging the land for any sign of Death in the area that Jamie described, when Lucifer and another figure crash through the air. 

Lucifer doesn’t catch sight of them, thankfully, but continues to beat the crap out of some bluish dude on a white horse. 

“That is Kalki, the Destroyer of Filth,” Castiel fills him in, explaining about the god’s background and purpose while Haschmal keeps zapping them across the country, only to come to a crashing stop when an agonized cry echoes through the air.

“Look!” Castiel shouts and Dean turns around barely in time to see a large figure, god and horse, fall from the sky towards the ground. 

Even where they are standing they can hear Lucifer’s triumphant laughter, colored in Sam’s familiar voice, and it makes Dean’s skin crawl. 

Suddenly it becomes blaringly obvious what’s the reason for the volcanic eruptions that Jamie talked about: Lucifer’s laughter fades away and immediately afterwards, the ground begins to shake. 

The sounds of almost twenty gas explosions ring out like gunshots in a quiet neighborhood and steam starts to rise from the mountain chain, which apparently consists entirely of previously dormant and active volcanoes. 

“Take us closer,” Dean orders Haschmal, who obeys immediately and suddenly they’re standing – what the hell? 

“This a McDonald’s?”

“So it would seem,” Castiel replies, glancing around. 

“This is the city of Escuintla,” Haschmal explains as if that’s gonna help them with anything. 

People are rushing outside, gazing up towards the columns of steam. Haschmal nods at them and starts explaining to the crowd about what is going on. Dean watches until another angel appears and starts transporting the people away because, these fiery babies? Not gonna stay content with steam explosions, that’s for sure. 

Dean grabs Cas’ sleeve and drags him with him as he sprints further towards the mountains, through streets of panicked bystanders until they end up in the lot of a supermarket, big ass building with lots of cars parked out front. 

Dean spies it in under twenty seconds. 

Snugly parked between a Mini Cooper and a Hummer stands a pale grey 1959 Cadillac Series 62. Three feet away there lies the lifeless form of a man, whose only crime probably was looking at Death funny. 

“He’s here,” Dean whispers, tightening his grip on Cas’ wrist. He remembers clear as day how eerie Death was when he spoke to his partner. But there’s no way in hell Dean’ll let the guy take Cas away, no matter what. 

“There is no need to crush his arm, Dean. I am not going to reap your lover today.”

Dean’s proud that he doesn’t jump. Much. Cas, on the other hand, flinches visibly and shuffles closer to Dean, who takes a step to put himself between the two without even giving it much thought. 

“Well, excuse me if I ain’t taking any risks.”

Death doesn’t reply but stare at him with those intense eyes. He holds his gaze, reminding himself that God sent a vision and that’s why this is gonna work out. 

Death’s eyebrows twitch. “I see you have been returned to human form.”

“Yeah, you’ll get to take me down after all.”

“Was the price worth it?” Death asks, though his tone is flat as if the petty events of the Winchester family are more tedious than interesting. 

“That depends.”

“Ah.”

Of course Death would get it right away. ‘Cause it could have been worth it, seen from an objective point of view and not through Dean’s eyes that are tinted with brotherly affection. If Dean can get Death’s scythe and use it to kill Lucifer, then it’ll be okay since the alternative would’ve been Dean serving Lucifer with Sammy on the other side, unable to kill his Knight-of-Hell-brother when the moment comes. 

“Do you think you will be able to pull this of?” Death seems genuinely curious. 

“I was gonna do it once before.”

“True. However that was years ago.”

“Sammy did this ‘cause he knew I would do what I had to in order to make this right. I ain’t stopping just because that bitch’s wearing my brother’s face.”

The silence that follows is long and tense. Dean can feel his palms starting to sweat and he wishes he could grab Cas’ hand, though somehow he doubts that’ll put Death in a favorable mood, seeing as he doesn’t really like Cas. For a brief second Dean wonders what his Dad would’ve thought about him… 

“I take it you sought me out to ask yet another favor of me, Dean.”

“Yeah. I would like to, uh, borrow your scythe. As far as we were able to figure out it’s the only thing strong enough to actually kill Lucifer, so…”

Dean definitely does not like how the horseman’s brows furrow at his statement, as if he’s suddenly wondering about something that doesn’t quite add up. 

“How did you know I would come here?”

“There’s a new prophet. He had a vision about these volcanoes,” which are currently causing the earth to vibrate in addition to vomiting steam clouds, though Dean does his best to ignore that, “and the death toll it’d cause. So we figured we could try. I mean, yeah, we screwed up epically this time around, but… I mean, I’m trying to clean up this the mess, so maybe you could, I don’t know, cut us a break?”

“You think after all that you, your idiotic brother and this puny angel have done, I will simply hand you one of the strongest weapons in the universe? Care to explain how you arrived at this presumption?”

Yeah, Death’s not really on board with this. 

“The vision,” Cas cuts in, and Dean has to restrain himself from slapping a hand across his boyfriend’s mouth ‘cause he certainly won’t make this better. “Prophets have been appointed by God. It is a safe hypothesis that he is also the one to send those visions, which means that God intended for us to know where you are today. He intended for us to find you and ask you for your scythe. This is your old friend asking you for a favor. This is the reasoning behind our actions. Sir,” he adds belatedly. 

Death appears to mull this over, still looking weary but at least not downright contrary. 

After what seemed like to Dean half an eternity, Death reaches inside his suit jacket and retrieves the small scythe. Before handing it over he looks Dean straight in the eye. 

“I am not a broken record, Dean, so I will not tell you not to screw this up. I will not comment at all. Just rest assured that this is the very last favor you ever get to ask of me.”

Dean swallows but nods, reaching out and tentatively closing his fingers around the hilt. The scythe is a solid weight and surprisingly warm. He is sure that, if Death wanted to, it’d start overheating before Dean could let it go. 

“We will only see each other twice more, Dean Winchester. When you return the scythe and when I come to collect you. Try to avoid both events occurring on the same day.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” 

Death makes to walk off towards the supermarket as the first signs of the explosive eruptions start, however he stops after just four steps, turns around and bestows a look on Cas that could almost pass as smug. 

It makes Dean want to pull Cas tight to his chest and never let him go. 

Instead, Dean forces his lips into a smile as he holds up the scythe. “We’ve caught a break, how ‘bout that?”

“I knew you could do it, Dean.”

“Oh no, you played the ‘your friend said’ card. You’re at least half responsible for this.”

Cas surges forward and kisses him, happy and hungry, and it would have gone on, turned into one of the best make-out sessions they’d ever had, if it weren’t for the fucking mountain ridge plastered with volcanoes behind them that’s currently mid-eruption. 

So they send a quick prayer Heavenward and two heartbeats later, they are gone from Guatemala. 

The volcanoes erupt nonetheless, spewing rocks, dust, gas and pyroclastic material into the air. Later, Dean will hear estimates that almost 10 million people lost their lives due to the disaster. 

Death had a busy day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, there are only two chapters more to go! I can’t believe it! I’ll write them both before posting since the next one will end with the cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers and I don’t want to risk you guys having to wait for too long. I hope to post on the 30th and 31st, or maybe 31st and 1st, so stay tuned!  
> And there’ll be one last “Escapades” chapter, I’ve decided, albeit a short one. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Anyway, I live off air and comments, so please don’t hesitate to let me know what you thought!**


	20. Episode 19 - Rule the World, part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armed with Death’s scythe, Dean and Castiel prepare for a final confrontation with Lucifer. Meanwhile, Alex and Charlie manage to track down Merrick and Beth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Welcome to the grand, two-part finale!** (I’m posting a day later than promised but I figured no one would have had the time on New Year’s Eve even if I had managed to finish in time.)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story despite its errors (which will be corrected because a lovely person volunteered to beta this monster). Seriously, your comment and kudos were a great motivator and I’d love for you to keep it up *winks*
> 
> If you haven’t already, **please read[chapter 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1862109/chapters/6469232) of “Escapades”** since it does contain some plot. It will be hinted at here, though you might prefer to read the entire scenes.
> 
> This chapter comes with a **WARNING for supernatural-style character death**. I didn’t put it in the tags because… well, this is Supernatural.  
>  Let me remind you that I am a sucker for endings that satisfy the reader, so no need to despair. 
> 
> *drum-roll* All right, let’s get this show on the road.

_There's a room where the light won't find you_  
 _Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down_  
 _When they do I'll be right behind you_

_So glad we've almost made it_   
_So sad they had to fade it_   
_Everybody wants to rule the world_   
_Everybody wants to rule the world_

_\- “Rule The World”, Lorde_

*

**New Orleans, Louisiana**

Like many other kids, Dylan liked tales about dragons and magic and adventure, pretended to be powerful like Merlin or a fierce warrior like King Arthur, though never did it occur to him that any of the myths might actually be real. So when his parents died when he was nine and his grandmother took him in, he was in for quite the surprise. 

Turns out his parents never really took him to see the old woman because she owned a magic shop in New Orleans, one of the oldest and biggest in the entire country. 

From then on out Dylan’s life transformed – it filled with rituals, spells, ingredients. Then came Katrina and brought demons, werewolves and ghosts. Not that they hadn’t existed before but the disaster made them more visible, especially when they tried to break into the shop that had by that point passed to Dylan after his grandmother’s death. 

The only problem was – the monsters couldn’t get in. 

Dylan is good at many things, though his real talent is warding magic. His wards are the strongest in the States and everyone knows it. 

So when an ice storm veils the country in a layer of white powder, when the heat comes and when the Beast of the Sea destroys the White House a few states over, everyone panics but Dylan. 

Nothing that tried to enter his shop with malicious intent managed to actually get in, though there are still enough customers around to justify keeping it open. 

It’s almost August when the bell jingles again – it hasn’t done that too much lately, seeing as most of the humans that have made it this long are in the refugee camps with their angelic guards. Dylan looks up from the book he is reading and takes in the new arrivals; a woman with auburn hair, dressed in sturdy pants and a fashionable blouse, as well as a weathered-looking man, carrying himself like a someone who knows what it feels like to slit someone’s throat without getting blood on his worn leather jacket. 

They sidestep the rug hiding the devil’s trap easily. 

Dylan swallows. The only thing worse than demons is smart demons. And yet they bypassed the wards – either they cheated or they’re here to purchase goods. 

“How can I help you today?” he asks, trying his best to sound relaxed and not at all frightened. 

“We heard you might have some rare ingredients,” the woman says, placing a list written on a piece of white paper on the counter. 

“As long as you’re able to pay for it.”

“You still demand money?” is the first thing the man says, raising an eyebrow, obviously unimpressed. 

“No, but I accept any kind of weapon and from what I can see, the stuff you’re looking for is not only rare, it’s illegal.”

“According to which law?” the woman parries. 

“Touché,” Dylan allows. “Luckily for you I don’t discriminate against dark magic in here, so I might be able to help you.”

“Might?” The man tugs at his jacket to reveal the handle of what appears to be a rather big knife. 

“Are you threatening me or offering me your weapon as trade?” Dylan shoots back. 

“Do you want to find out?”

“You will not pillage this shop and you will not harm me.”

“Is that so?”

The man jumps across the counter as soon as the last syllable leaves his lips, only to be thrown backwards onto the floor and right into the devil’s trap. 

Oh, how Dylan loves it when newcomers don’t know that he’s got real mojo and all the hex bags are just for show and those lesser than him. 

The woman, to her credit, catches on fairly quickly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Fine. We have weapons. Name your price.”

“Well, judging by the stuff you need I can imagine what you’re conjuring with it, so I’ll wager a guess and say you’re working for the Big Boss. Which means you can get me pretty much anything I ask for. How am I doing so far?”

“Very well,” the woman grants, though Dylan can see how her neck has tensed when he hinted at Lucifer. 

“Good. Then why don’t you get me a hellhound and I’ll have your order ready when you return?”

The demon blinks. “A hellhound?”

“Yes. It gets awfully lonely in here and I’ve always wanted a pet, though my granny was more of a cat person.”

She considers him for a moment, then nods. “I’ll be right back. Prepare our order. I’ll leave my colleague here to keep an eye on you.”

She draws a gun, shoots into the floor, breaking the devil’s trap, and exits the shop with the bell jingling behind her. 

*

**The Suburbs, Washington, DC**

“So you really don’t know where he is?” 

Dean can hear Cas’ voice clearly from the other room where he’s talking to Hannah while he’s rummaging through the wardrobe in the master bedroom. They’re a few houses down the road from where they squatted since no house has yielded any suitable clothing so far. 

Not that Dean’s got anything against bigger men but it’s really annoying if the world’s ending and you need clean clothes that ain’t five sizes too big.

“All I know is that he seems to still be in Washington. I apologize that I cannot be of more help, Castiel.”

“It’s fine, Hannah. I know you’re busy.”

“And quite less successful than you appear to be.”

“You cannot compare borrowing a weapon with protecting the entire human race.”

“You talked to _Death_ , Castiel,” Hannah insists, and that’s the point Dean decides he’ll stop it with the eavesdropping and start concentrating on the important things. 

The family seems to have had a son Dean’s size who apparently only packed the bare essentials so there’s still lots of clothing in the drawers – though seriously, who the hell puts their clothes in a drawer? Okay, apparently people who’ve got more suits than underwear, that’s who, Dean reasons when he discovers some pretty sleek jackets hanging where he’d have thought the jeans would go. 

_Jeans. Cas in jeans, now there’s a thought._ Dean chuckles as he throws the pair onto the pile they’re either changing into or taking with them. 

Shit, he shouldn’t have thought of Cas. He should’ve kept thinking about what a douchebag the guy whose room he’s looting probably was, or really anything else, ‘cause thinking about Cas means thinking about how he said the l-word last night and how this morning they woke up tangled up on the ground floor sofa. The sun was already up, its light streaming in through the windows and reflecting in Cas’ hair, which obviously meant that Dean couldn’t stop himself from running a hand through it, which in turn woke Cas who then smiled so fondly and so… so full of love that it’s making Dean’s heart beat faster just thinking about. This morning it literally took his breath away. 

_“I love you, Dean Winchester,”_ Cas’ voice echoes in Dean’s head. _“I don’t need you to say it back but I need you to know that I have loved you for a while and I will keep loving you for the rest of our lives and beyond, no matter what happens.”_

No matter what happens. And really, it might be anything – they kill Lucifer and save the world; or they fail and will pay for all eternity. It’s too unsure, too blurry and Dean can’t for the life of him allow any thought about possible endings enter his mind ‘cause he needs to keep his head on straight. He’s got a job, a hunt, and all that feelings crap needs to wait ‘til it’s over, damn it. 

“Did you find adequate clothing?” the former angel asks from the doorway. 

Dean gestures toward the pile. “Enough to keep us going for a bit. Any word on our old pal?”

Cas shakes his head. “Nothing definite. Maybe he still resides in Washington, maybe not.”

“Well, then let’s start there; seeing as we’re already in the vicinity. Here, get dressed.” Dean tosses him a pair of jeans and a shirt and picks something for himself. “I want to get moving asap.”

*

**New Orleans, Louisiana**

Dylan hears the woman before he sees her – or rather, he hears the hellhound before anything else. 

It barks at him, though soon enough quiets down and sniffs his proffered hand. 

“She’s bound to you now. I nicked some of your hair for the spell, Harry Potter.”

“Please, I’m much more powerful than Harry Potter,” Dylan replies just as he always does when someone choses that particular nickname and crouches down next to the dog to pet it – pet her. He needs to work on a spell to allow him to see her. And he needs a name… 

“Our things?” the man demands, so Dylan reluctantly stands up and hand them everything they asked for. 

If money still were a viable currency, this purchase would have cost the demons at least a million dollars, if not more. The hellhound is a just trade, especially since it’ll give Dylan the edge he needs to survive whatever else is coming. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” is the last thing the woman says, her voice oozing sarcasm.

Dylan waits until they’re gone before he reaches for his encrypted cell phone and hits speed dial. The woman he’s come to know as Charlie picks up on the second ring. 

“Yes?”

“Charlie, it’s Dylan. Two demons just bought enough supplies to conjure a dragon. I thought you’d like to know.”

“Wha – how did they look like?”

Dylan describes them to the best of his abilities, holding the phone with his left hand while his right is giving his newest companion a belly rub. Hellhounds are susceptible to belly rubs – who would have thought?

“Yes, they definitely sound like the people we’re looking for. Thanks for this, Dylan. I hope they didn’t hurt you.”

“You might not know me, Charlie, but I am able to handle myself. And for the record, I made them trade me something even more valuable.”

“Good. Well, if there’s anything else, tell me?”

“Sure thing. I’m not going anywhere for the foreseeable future.”

He hears the girl chuckle on the other end and ends the call. 

*

Several state borders away, Charlie sprints down the stairs and into the room where she knows Alex is training. The huntress executes one last sidekick against the old wooden door on the other end of the room, then turns to face her, the “What?” written clearly across he face. 

“We’ve got a lead on Beth and Merrick. They’re probably about to conjure the Beast of the Earth.”

“Then we better stop them,” Alex grunts, launches another kick that successfully blasts the door from its hinges.

*

*

“Nope, the White House’s nothing but dirt and rubble, no way a guy who only wears white suits’s gonna live there, Cas.”

“I don’t know where else we could start. Unless you prefer to scour the entire city?”

“Fuck that, no way. But come on, there’s gotta be a way to narrow this down…”

Dean heaves a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes in the hope of speeding up this process. They’ve been wandering the suburbs aimlessly, brainstorming about where they could find Lucifer, for the better part of two hours. 

Cas releases an annoyed breath. “Maybe we should look for sustenance. Something warm might help us think.”

“Yeah, let’s see if we can find a house that’s still got –“ 

“Dean?”

But he’s already groaning, kicking at the sidewalk in frustration. “Damn it, Cas, how could we’ve been so stupid? Warm! Cold!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lucifer runs cold! The last time he was around, he dropped the temperature of an entire block by twenty degrees! We find the coldest building in town, we find that son of a bitch!”

Cas blinks at him, eyes wide, and one second later he’s kissing Dean, wild and enthusiastic. Dean can’t help loosing himself in it for a few minutes until they break apart, both of them breathing more heavily. 

“So how do we find the coldest building in the city?”

“Well, I’m sure your winged friends’ll help us out if we ask nicely, right?”

Cas smiles at that, places another kiss on his cheek, then closes his eyes to pray for a ride upstairs. 

*

“Do you dear girls even know where you’re going?” Crowley drawls from the doorway. Red and Kahr are packing hex bags and ammo like villains on the way to the last shootout with the police, yet neither of them seems to have much of a plan. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Alex grits out, not even lifting her eyes from her weapons.

“What a well-thought out plan, Thelma and Louise. Frankly I’m appalled that Lucifer’s still walking the earth when we have such great strategists on our side.”

“You got a better plan?” Alex oh-so-predictably snaps. 

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

The huntress finally grants him her full attention, crossing her arms over her chest as she turns to face him. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“First, we perform a locating spell. I know one incantation that requires the demon’s former human name and won’t be felt by the targets. Based on what we find, we’ll work out an adequate plan of attack.”

The two girls are quiet for a moment, then Alex objects, “How can we be sure you’re not lying to us and will have us walking into a trap?”

“What would I have to gain?”

“Maybe you’ve re-established contact with some old demon pals. Trade us for reduced sentence.”

“I doubt anything I might be able to offer Lucifer will make him forget the part I played in his downfall and how I blatantly filled the power vacuum with my own, humble self. Besides, I don’t want to be leveraged against a car.”

In the end, it’s Red who decides to trust him. “We really have no other choice, do we? We’re dead in the water without any hint of where to find them.”

Alex’ jaw is set and she is quiet for several seconds that trickle by slowly until she finally nods, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. But you better have all the ingredients ready.”

“Five minutes. I’ll be back before you have powdered your green noses,” Crowley sneers and blinks out of existence.

*

With the help of the angel squad, locating the coldest building in Washington goes surprisingly quick. If only there were only the one…

“What do you mean, there’s four?” Dean asks, shooting Hannah an incredulous look. 

“See these four bright spots?” She points to them on the map of Washington that is spread out on the desk in front of them. “All of these are almost twenty degrees colder than the surrounding buildings. If Lucifer had been to three of them in the past, they would have warmed up by now; however they are all equally cold.”

“It could be a spell,” Cas suggests. “He would assume we might try to locate him like this.”

“So how are we supposed to figure out which one’s the real Evil Inc.?” 

“Perhaps the buildings itself will provide some clues,” Hannah muses. “One of them is a school, presumably abandoned now.”

“Lots of space, facilities, computer rooms – looking good,” Dean reasons, though motions for Hannah to give them more intel. 

“These two are both normal houses. Granted, they are slightly larger than average human dwellings, though there is nothing special about them.”

“And this one?” Cas asks, pointing to the one closest to the White House. Or what’s left of it anyway. 

“A corporate building. Skyscraper.”

Dean can feel a tug in his gut. “What’s the corporation called?” 

“Uh, Remy & Vause.”

“That’s it!” Dean shouts. “That black dude, that publicist guy – his name was Brian Remy. I betcha he jumped on the Lucifer train when he took over the building. My guess is they’re camped out there. Probably ‘cause it’s strategically close to the capitol.”

“How can you know?” Hannah wonders, genuinely confused. 

“I trust my gut. My gut says it’s this building.”

“Your gut?”

“It is a human thing. You might think of it as instincts, or a sort of sixth sense,” Cas translates. 

“At least I’m not seeing dead people,” Dean jokes, and only Cas gets it, smiling softly. Angels, seriously. 

Hannah still looks bewildered, yet she shakes her head and squares her shoulders. “Then I will trust your instincts, Dean Winchester. All the troops I can spare are yours if you want them.”

“Oh, music to my ears, man.”

Hannah’s brow furrows. All Cas does is roll his eyes fondly. Dean grins at both of them.

*

Lucifer is surveying a large map of the world, hung on the wall and sporting many differently colored pins to indicate the level of chaos and anarchy of the respective regions, when there is a knock on the door. 

A flick of his wrist and it slides open, revealing a smiling Brian Remy. When the most stoic man to ever stand in his presence is smiling, then Lucifer knows to expect very good news. 

“I have some pictures to show you,” is his opening line as he passes the printouts over. Lucifer raises an eyebrow when he accepts the paper. “Oh, I thought you might want them printed. I gather you have been waiting quite a while for this.”

Intrigued despite himself, Lucifer turns the photographs around. Red. So much red, flowing down the riverbed. 

“All this is blood?”

“Yes. Maybe some rain, since there have been a few drops lately, but about ninety percent of this is actual, human blood.”

So the Euphrates finally runs red with the blood of the dead. Oh sweet, sweet carnage. 

“Well done, Brian. Why don’t you take a red pin and stick the picture where it belongs?”

“Me?”

“Do you see anyone other than you who is called Brian and being addressed right now? I thought you were exceptionally smart.”

“I apologize – it’s just such an honor.”

“Save me from your toadying. I am under no delusion as to why you’re working for me, so pandering to me will be of no use.”

“Alright. But still. It’s…” 

Thankfully the human leaves it at that and just gets on with it. While he is pinning the picture to the wall, Lucifer’s eyes land on the calendar next to the door. It is one of these big poster ones, yet designed in unassuming red and grey with the firm’s logo in the upper right corner. 

“What day is it?” Lucifer asks without bothering to look at Brian. 

He contemplates for a second. “August first.”

A dark chuckle escapes Lucifer, which apparently terrifies his publicist slightly. Well, it had better. “Tell everyone to be extra vigilant today. Oh, and does this building per chance have a garden?”

“Yes… You have to exit through the back. Four office buildings share it. It’s not big, but it is green. Or used to be. I haven’t seen it since our change in management.”

“I might take a look later.”

The other man takes it as the dismissal that it is, exiting the room at an easy yet brisk pace. It’s really nice for a change to have underlings who understand his needs and no matter how much it surprises Lucifer, Brian Remy does. There is no doubt in Lucifer’s mind that he will alert every demon in the building, not spending any time pondering the reason behind the orders. 

1st August 2014. Lucifer has hardly been so eager to see what a day would bring.

*

**Federal lands, southern Nevada**

“Area 51? Are you kidding me?” 

“Well, the mystery of the land maybe suits the mystery of the feat they are about to undertake.”

“Crowley, no one cares for your opinion,” Alex snaps, tightening her grip on her gun. 

“Oh, but you should. The ground is not shaking yet, so we have time to set up a perimeter, circle them; pull the noose tighter, as they say.”

“Can you circle someone with three people?” Red wonders and Crowley has to stifle an exasperated groan. 

“Metaphorically. Am I correct in assuming that you will want to take care of Beth yourself, dear Miss Kahr?”

“She’s mine. I promised –“

“Yeah, you promised your dying brother who’s probably watching from Heaven and torn between hoping you’ll die trying to be able to play with him sooner, and rooting for you to win, I get it,” Crowley interrupts her. Frankly he’s had enough of her vendetta. Cannot be healthy, really. Vendettas in general – not good for your health, nor for the bloke you’re after. Really, all vendettas should be abolished, especially Lucifer’s… “I will take on Merrick and you, Red, work your magic from afar until it looks like we need you. Everyone clear on the plan?”

It takes half a minute, though both of them nod. 

Crowley gulps down a deep breath, unwilling to show how nervous he is. Really, how did he get from being a common crossroads demon, minding his own business, to actively confronting one of the most powerful demons he knows? 

Bugger, it’s too late to reconsider his life choices now. Now he has an attack to execute.

*

“And remember,” Dean calls out, standing tall and strong and Castiel has to force himself to listen to his words and not simply stay mesmerized by his demeanor. “You guys storm the building and get Gabriel out. I want one unit outside, taking care of any cowards wanting to jump ship. Cas and I’ll be circling ‘round to the garden. I got a feeling that’s where we’ll find Lucifer.”

Why he does so remains a mystery. Castiel has asked, repeatedly, and has been dismissed or placated with evasive answers every time. Dean is hiding information and Castiel dislikes it greatly. 

Which is why he stops their advance halfway around the building, shortly before Dean intends to give the signal. 

“Dean, what is going on? This is not the time to keep secrets.”

“It’s nothing, Cas, really –“

“If it’s nothing then you might as well tell me.”

“Damn, you ain’t gonna budge ‘til you got me to spill, are you?”

“No.”

Dean deflates visibly and suddenly Castiel feels a pang of guild of causing his lover such negative emotions. 

“Back when your old BFF Zach still ran the show, he put me in an alternate reality. It was the Croatoan virus then, but the end results were still the same: most of humanity dead, only a few of us still out there, fighting the good fight. You were some sort of crazy-ass hippie having orgies – man, that was weirder than weird, I gotta tell you. But…”

“Yes?”

“Well, we confronted Lucifer. On August first, 2014. And I watched that douchebag in Sammy’s body killing the other me.”

Castiel has to digest this, then quell the anger rising in his chest at the thought that Dean would have gone into this situation with the knowledge that another him in another universe tried and failed. Castiel wants to shake him, slap him, cuff him to the radiator back at their last house and take the scythe to Lucifer’s throat himself. 

Castiel doesn’t do any of these things. Instead, he crowds Dean against the wall and kisses his as if his life depends on it. 

“Dean, you are the strongest man I know. You have the mightiest weapon of all and you will not perish like the vision that my former brother fabricated to convince you to do his bidding. I love you, and you can do it.”

Something melts in Dean’s eyes, some of the tension bleeds out of his body and he stares. Castiel can see the moment the words form in Dean’s mind, yet before the other man even opens his mouth, Castiel has put a finger against his lips to silence him. 

“Please don’t say it, Dean. Don’t make this sound like a good-bye. Tell me after we succeed.” 

For a slit second it looks as if his partner might argue, though he decides against it in the end. Castiel steps back and lets Dean pass, scythe secure in his hand. Then he closes his eyes, sending a quick prayer to every angel in their vicinity – their agreed upon signal. 

What is hopefully their last battle against the devil starts with the sound of shattering glass.

*

Alex has to force herself to stay calm and collected. She’s none of these things, at least not on the inside, with Beth standing only several feet away. Everything that has happened since that fateful night at her house, every decision made, every demon killed, every human saved – it has all led her to this moment. 

She takes a deep breath, checking her aim. Breathe out – release. 

The shot echoes like the crack of a whip, hitting the bowl in Beth’s hand and shattering it into pieces before the ritual can be completed. 

It’s Charlie’s turn after that, throwing holy water bombs at the two demons while Alex changes weapons and sprints forward, ready to fulfill what she promised her brother months ago. 

*

Crowley intercepts Merrick before he can zap to Red. 

“Nah, I don’t think so. I still have a bone to pick with you. Several bones, in fact.”

The grin playing about his former general’s mouth is more of a leer than anything else. He cackles, apparently amused by Crowley’s foolhardiness. Well, no one finds it stranger than he does himself. 

“Oh, I’d say we’re square.”

“Is that so? Am I to understand, then, that you did not undermine my position behind my back, break the sixty-six seals and pull the most moronic coup d’état I have ever witnessed?”

Merrick sighs, shaking his head. “What was I to do if you forget the promises you made?”

“I never break promises.” A beat. “Alright, fine, I do, all the time as a matter of fact, but what on this slightly-less-green-and-more-red earth have I made you think you could have?”

“Knighthood, a leading position, more authority. Take your pick, Crowley,” Merrick snaps. “Instead you keep me in the cellar, torturing soul after soul – which, don’t get me wrong, gives me great pleasure. Yet I thought you called me your best warrior. Isn’t it reasonable to be angry when you select the new Knights of Hell and I am not among them?”

Crowley has to blink several times to process all this bollocks. “Oh no, how could I?” he eventually cries out in mock-worry. “What was I thinking? Maybe that you’re too bloody headstrong to fit into a group of mindless soldiers, you daft git! I can’t believe this…”

“You should have given me the recognition I deserve.”

“Oh, and Lucifer does?”

“He honours my skills and allows me autonomy.”

“Until you look at him the wrong way.”

“Times have changed, Crowley. It’s not like that anymore.”

“So he says.”

“He acts like it, too.”

“I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve reached an impasse. And frankly, I’m growing bored.”

Merrick’s answer isn’t verbal but purely physical – he smirks before throwing himself into his first attack. 

Too bad that Crowley has seen Merrick fight often enough to know most of his moves. This will be as easy as teaching Juliet a new trick. 

*

Gabriel would have liked to say that he played a vital part in his own rescue. That he beat down ten, twenty demons on his way out. 

But his body won’t even hold him upright anymore, exhaustion and pain and lack of rest wearing him down, so playing the hero is out of the picture when Hannah slams through the window with half of Heaven’s army. 

The demons have been vigilant all day and Gabriel has yet to figure out how the ever-loving fuck his dear brother was able to determine which day his saviors would arrive. Not that lowlifes like these in Luci’s HQ are any match for an army of angels, vigilant or not. 

The devil himself is nowhere to be found and his minions fall like flies. 

“You’re alive,” Hannah whispers reverently as she spies him. She looks different, somehow; fiercer, stronger, and older, as if she aged by a millennium in the past two weeks. Two and a half? Time’s become a fuzzy concept for him. 

“Fit as a fiddle,” Gabriel tries to say, though it comes out as a rasp and ends in a truly pathetic coughing fit. 

“We need to get you out of here and back to the Host,” Hannah decides without even checking with him for confirmation. 

_Wow, someone had a crash course in leadership. Good for her._

Gabriel looses track of what’s happening for a bit at that point, only coming back when he feels the rope fall away. 

“Can you stand?” Hannah inquires. Gabriel tries, he really does, but his legs give out the second he tries to straighten up. Apparently humans aren’t build to make it through two weeks of being bound to a chair and tortured unscathed. Go figure. 

One moment later Hannah has commandeered another angel and told them to zap Gabriel’s ass right back to Heaven and tend to him. Admittedly, Hannah’s choice of words wasn’t nearly as colorful, but you get the gist. 

It only takes one moment and then, finally, Gabriel is home. 

*

It’s with a sick sense of dejà-vu that Dean rounds the last corner after checking in with Cas. The garden’s small, but bigger than in Zach’s vision; it’s green, has a stone bench and – roses. 

It’s also empty. 

“What the –“ Dean begins, but then a familiar voice interrupts him, seemingly disembodied. He whirls around, Cas mirroring him, trying to locate its source. 

“Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter – we will always end up… here.”

A flash of thunder, then Lucifer is standing where he stood all these years ago, suit just as white. His hair is longer, one side framing his face, the other one tucked behind his ear. 

“Wasn’t that what I told you?”

It’s Sammy, but it’s not Sammy. Dean can feel goose bumps covering his arms and he grips the scythe tighter. 

“Well, this is new,” Lucifer notes, taking in the scythe, then Cas behind him. “And you brought a friend. Do you think if you won’t gather the courage to kill your own brother, you lover will?”

“I’ll end you, you son of a bitch. I promised I’d find a way and here I am. So are we gonna dick around all day and talk about our feelings or are you gonna fight me?”

Lucifer merely smiles. The asshole’s too damn calm. Well, pride before the fall, and all that. 

“You cannot goad me, Dean. I don’t need to prove my manhood to Daddy anymore.”

Suddenly demons appear out of nowhere, five of them. Cas and he are truly and epically surrounded now. 

“Your brother is screaming at me that I cannot hurt you since it was part of our deal,” Lucifer continues while Dean and Cas move so they’re back-to-back, Dean holding the scythe, Cas the demon-killing knife. “However, seeing as you came here with the one thing that is definitely able to kill me, I consider that condition of our agreement null and void. Go on.”

The last part is directed at his minions, who launch themselves at them. Dean barely grazes one with the scythe’s tip and it immediately combusts into ashes. 

He has enough time to mumble, “Awesome!” before the second demon is coming at him. He senses Cas behind him, burying his weapon to the hilt inside a body. 

Dean keeps fighting like that – one eye on his opponents, one eye on Cas. Of course he misses the moment when it’s Lucifer attacking him. 

*

Crowley is losing. 

When he realises how truly and utterly buggered he is, it’s already too late. Merrick has manoeuvred him into a corner, is gaining more and more footing with every blow. There isn’t enough zapping in the world that Crowley can do to escape – Merrick is always a hair’s breadth behind him, carving knife in hand, it’s blade glistening with the blood it has already drawn. 

In one last bout of strength, fuelled more by desperation than reason, Crowley aims to break free, cast Merrick down and then – like he should have done long ago – run as fast as he can and never seek out anyone ever again. 

Only he has genuinely underestimated how much Merrick’s powers have grown ever since Lucifer has joined the picture. 

Crowley is on the ground a second later, not Merrick. He is the one holding the knife, he is the one pinning Crowley to the dusty soil with it and his powers. 

“Well, go on, then. Kill me. I know you have been itching for this, haven’t you?” Crowley dares him, pretending the blind panic rising in his chest is not there.

“Oh now, why would I kill you when Lucifer wants you alive?”

Merrick’s hand moves so fast Crowley barely sees it and then ice-cold metal closes around his wrist. Whatever it is, it’s laced with salt and adorned by a devil’s trap and when the second cuff snaps into place and Merrick’s eyes sparkle with evil satisfaction, Crowley wishes he his path had never ever crossed that of the bloody Winchesters. 

*

Weeks of fighting have toned Castiel’s reflexes and sharpened his senses. He deals with the army of demons easily. There are never too much for him to handle – a continuous flow of opponents, all of them strong yet none of them Winchester-trained. 

A flash of white in the corner of his eye. A grunt from Dean. 

Cas whirls around, taking in the image of Dean and Lucifer fighting each other, Sam’s body moving with almost laid-back calm, Dean’s swift and fierce. 

For the moment it looks well enough for Castiel to focus once more on the demons, yet his eyes keep straying, his mind keeps drifting. One of the demons manages to wound him, a gash across his side that immediately starts oozing blood. Castiel ignores it, yet he soon realizes that it is time for plan B. 

It takes some maneuvering and two more demons fall to the ground, dead, until he manages to light the fuse of the explosive hex bag and throw it towards the next wave of attackers. 

The blast only affects demons, no angels, which means everyone but Lucifer, Dean and Castiel are thrown backwards and immediately burst into flames. Their screams are still echoing through the garden when Castiel turns. 

His blood freezes in his veins. His breath catches. Time slows. 

Dean is lying on the ground, his eye bruised and his lip bleeding, clothes stained green from the grass, Lucifer towering over him. The scythe is lying on the ground, ten inches too far away for Dean’s outstretched hand to reach it. 

Lucifer moves his fingers, eyes trained on the weapon. 

Castiel makes a decision.

*

Charlie weighs the last holy water bomb in her hand. Alex is bleeding from a bullet wound to her shoulder but she’s still moving. Not that Beth is faring much better, though if Charlie wastes her last shot then she’s out of options. 

She throws. 

And misses. 

The distraction is enough for Alex to launch herself at the demon once more, with the fervor of a desperate woman who’s lost everything. Beth sees it coming – her outstretched hand closes around Alex’ throat, lifting her off the ground. Alex’ weapon falls to the floor and Charlie knows what she’s about to do goes against every single one of the huntress’ wishes but screw that – 

Her feet move, then her hand, closing around the long knife at her belt. 

She rams it into Beth’s throat, blood pouring out of the wound immediately as she releases her hold on Alex. One last hex bag, one last secret weapon Charlie brought form Oz. 

She stuffs it into Beth’s gaping mouth, open in a silent scream or maybe she’s actually screaming Charlie can’t tell, all she can tell is that Beth’s eyes smoke out and she topples over, just an empty vessel with nothing inside anymore. 

“NO!” Alex shouts, her voice hoarse from being choked. Charlie feels a pang of guilt but no regret as Alex shakes Beth’s lifeless form as if trying to will her back to earth so she can kill her all over again. 

*

Time unfreezes. 

Castiel breaks into a sprint just as the scythe flies into Lucifer’s outstretched hand and Dean’s body is dragged upright by invisible hands. 

Every fiber of his being has one thought, and one thought only – a frantic chorus of _notDeannotDeannotDean_ is filling his lungs and pumping his blood. 

Lucifer’s arm extends back, ready to snap forward in a second. 

Castiel jumps, his hands gripping Dean’s shoulders as his body moves into the scythe’s trajectory. 

The last thing Castiel sees are Dean’s beautiful green eyes, widening when they meet Castiel’s own. 

*

A blink later. No pain. There should be pain. Shouldn’t there? Instead, there is a hand on his arm. 

Castiel opens his eyes. 

Next to him stands Death himself, eyes focused on something straight ahead. When he follows his line of sight, Castiel spies himself, pierced by the scythe, standing protectively in front of Dean. The scene seems frozen in time, almost like an art installation in a museum. 

“I have to admit it gives me great satisfaction to reap you, Castiel,” Death says, finally turning around to look at him. 

Castiel thinks he should probably feel sorry about himself, yet nothing is further from his mind. 

“What will happen to Dean? Why aren’t they moving? Tell me what’s going on!” 

“I do not like your tone, young man.”

“I don’t care! You’ve already got me where you want me! I’ll gladly follow you wherever you’ll take me but _please _, tell me what happens to Dean.”__

__Death wrinkles his nose as though Castiel is a particularly nasty type of cockroach, yet he snaps his finger and the scene unfreezes. Castiel watches, tense, how his body combusts into ashes at Dean’s feet and Lucifer withdraws the scythe, apparently preparing for another blow._ _

__It never hits its target._ _

__The air buzzes, something resonates on a frequency too high for Castiel to hear and suddenly a white light emanates from Dean, so bright that Castiel has to shield his eyes._ _

__When he opens them again, Dean is gone, as is the scythe, and Lucifer is screaming in hot fury at the sky._ _

__“Wh- what was that?”_ _

__“Hmm, who might have the motivation to see Dean unharmed with the scythe returned to him. Whoever might be powerful enough to accomplish such a feat. Whoever might care enough to actually engage in the petty lives of humans.”_ _

__Death’s voice is flat, almost bored. But Castiel understands, his chest constricting with too many feelings for his human body to hold._ _

__“Thank you, father,” he whispers, and follows Death into realms unknown._ _

__*_ _

__Dean shoots awake, eyes darting left, right, up, down, his heart trying to beat out of his chest and hammering against his rib cage._ _

__“Baby”, he murmurs softly as he recognizes the familiar dashboard and the feel of the leather against his back, sunlight streaming in through the front window and reflecting off of something on the passenger seat – the scythe._ _

___What the -?_ _ _

__It all suddenly comes back to him like a flood._ _

__“Cas?” he asks, then repeats his question. No answer reaches him and he can feel a sense of dread overcome him, clog up his veins and twist his insides._ _

__“CAS?!” he screams, getting out of the car, unseeing._ _

__“CAS!”_ _

__*_ _

_I woke up in somebody's arms_  
 _Strange and so familiar_  
 _Where nothing could go wrong_

_Barely alive or nearly dead_  
 _Somehow awake in my own bed_  
 _And there you are_

_Like a highway headed my way_  
 _Life is but a dream_  
 _I was shot down by your love_  
 _My angel in blue jeans_

_\- “Angel in Blue Jeans”, Train_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands-you-tissues* I’m not sorry… for the most part. I’m so happy I finally made it to this chapter because this is the point I’ve been writing towards ever since I had it all hashed out. 
> 
> I hope I haven’t alienated anyone and I will get the next and final (yes!) chapter to you by tomorrow to soothe this damn cliffhanger... Feel free to harass me on [tumblr](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/ask+faq), though!


	21. Episode 20 - Rule the World, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nothing left to lose, Dean sets out to kill Lucifer once and for all. That, or die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys – the last chapter. The finale. Gosh, I’m so nervous. I really hope you love it as much as I do. 
> 
> Final credits: This epic [fanvid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzUPBOW1TEw) was a great influence in terms of mood and tone; and [this](http://supernaturalapocalypse.tumblr.com/post/86566827317/want-to-hear-an-end-verse-theory) is the theory that provided the general direction of the plot.

_I hear voices calling all around_  
 _I keep falling down_  
 _I think my heart could pound right out of me_  
 _I see a million different ways_  
 _To never leave this maze alive_

_\- “Angel in Blue Jeans”, Train_

*

Dean’s knees give out when he realizes the full implication of Cas’ absence. He grabs the side of his car and slides down along the door, his eyes burning in the heat of whatever wasteland he’s currently in. 

His breathing is erratic and he has to gasp to get enough air as his stomach churns with dread. His chest feels like it’s open, laid bare, too much pain blinding him to everything else. 

Something rings. It barely registers at first but it’s persistent, getting louder with each ring. 

Dean breathes in through his nose, releasing the breath slowly, again and again until the panic attack subsides and he’s finally coherent enough to connect the ringing to his cell phone in his pocket. 

“Finally! Dude, not cool leaving me hanging like this! What’s going on? Luci’s still out and about and you’re missing, what the fuck happened?”

Gabriel. For a guy who spent the past weeks being tortured by the devil, he sure as hell sounds chipper. 

“He…” Dean’s shocked at how thin his voice is. He tries to go on but he has no idea what to say, how to explain it when he himself hasn’t fully accepted it yet. 

“What? Where are you?”

A voice in the background, maybe Jesse. Dean doesn’t hear the exact words but the Antichrist apparently argues to simply get Dean and zap him upstairs. 

Which is why, three minutes later, Dean is standing in Heaven’s office rooms on shaky legs, still clutching the cell phone like an idiot. He only snaps out of his daze when he sees Hannah’s worried look. 

“Dean-o, I hear I have you to thank for that rescue mission. Seriously, thanks for that. If I’d had to listen to Luci complain and nag and ramble for another day, I probably would have smitten me myself…”

“Where is Castiel?” 

Three words and Dean feels like Hannah has just stabbed him with a spoon. 

“Yeah, right – where is dear Cassie?” 

“He, uh,” Dean begins but finds his throat’s still not working. _Snap out of it, Winchester, damn it,_ a voice in his head that sounds eerily like his father snubs him. _The job ain’t done yet. You can cry after that monster’s dead._

So Dean clears his throat and meets Hannah and Gabriel’s questioning gazes head on. “He’s gone. Lucifer killed him.”

“Holy crack on a cracker, you’re kidding, right? Right, Dean-o?”

He shakes his head. Gabriel keeps rambling – Hannah meanwhile takes the route of stony silence, drawing in on herself. Dean can see her walls coming up and closing her off to her surroundings. 

“- and then I’m gonna smite that bastard so hard he’ll never stand up again before the sun implodes, seriously, Lucifer better warm up ‘cause I sure as hell won’t go easy on him –“

“You ain’t doing anything,” Dean interrupts as a sense of calm overcomes him, washing the pain away and replacing the panic. Suddenly the path ahead of him is clear. “I’m gonna do it. I got the scythe, I’ll ram it so hard up his ass that it’ll split his nose in half. I’m gonna make him pay for this.”

Gabriel doesn’t seem convinced. “Dean, confronting the devil alone’s a lame-assed plan, even with that fancy blade you got. What is it with you and special blades anyway?” He shakes his head. “Never mind that – you’re not going off alone.”

“Watch me.”

“No can do buddy –“ is as far as Gabriel gets before Dean has him slammed into a wall, hands fisted in his shirt. 

“Listen up, bitch. You’re gonna take me back to my car, then you’re gonna leave me alone and let me deal with this on my own. Lucifer’s mine to kill. If I fail, then feel free to step up to the task but for as long as my heart’s still beating I’ll gank everyone who gets in my way, and Gabe, even your archangel mojo won’t help you when you’re on the other end of the scythe.”

Gabriel has the good sense to lift his arms in surrender, nodding to someone to his right to show he’s honoring Dean’s wishes. 

“Good.” 

Dean has almost reached his ride – some scrawny angel with blond hair – when Gabriel calls his name again. When Dean looks over his shoulder, Gabriel’s expression is a mixture of pain and fury.

“If you fail, I’ll take over. He’s not getting away with what he’s done.”

Dean nods, not expecting anything less. “As long as you’re not gonna interfere this time around. This is my fight.”

“Sure thing, boy.”

Before the archangel can say anything else, Dean motions to the scrawny one to get a move on. He’s got a devil to kill.

*

*

**Area 51, Nevada**

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley sees Red and Kahr being whisked away by a member of the Bible Group. At least they are getting out of this alive and free, while Crowley can but rattle his chains. Well, one chain. Unfortunately one pair of cuffs is sufficient to tie Crowley to the spot. 

“I have heard a lot about you,” comes a voice from his right. It’s oddly familiar and sure, as soon as he turns his head, there stands Moose in all his six-foot-plus glory, wearing a pristine white suit. 

Nothing Moose would be caught dead in. Which means this really is…

“Yes, Crowley. I am Lucifer. My minions have been full of stories on the topic of your little self. Tell me – how does a petty crossroads demon manage to take over Hell itself?”

“What can I say, I am a born leader,” Crowley jokes, at a loss about what else he is supposed to do in this situation. Cower, perhaps? Beg? Yes – not going to happen. “People just flock around me, you know. Maybe it’s the accent, gives me an air f mystery. So many of you demons are American. I’ve always wondered why that is – are Americans inherently more evil than the rest of the word?”

“Nervous bumbling won’t safe you, Crowley.”

“Well, I’ll try anything once.”

“I can see right through your false bravado, too. You are terrified of what I am going to do to you, are you not?”

A shiver runs down Crowley’s spine. In any other context – role play, maybe – the sentence would have sounded rather hot coming from a man like Sam Winchester, yet with the threat of death or worse hanging over him, Crowley can only muster a shiver.

“Good for you that I am in a generous mood. You know, I just killed that angel, the one you teamed up with once in the fight for purgatory. Not your smartest move, I must say.”

“Wait – Castiel? You killed Castiel? And the Squirrel hasn’t dismembered you and crushed your bones?”

“Winchester was lucky to get away,” Lucifer sneers, the expression looking extremely weird on Sam’s face. 

Interesting. Crowley can’t help being suspicious that there is more behind this than the Morningstar lets on. Too bad Crowley’s in no position to find out more. 

“As I was mentioning – I am in a generous mood, so I will tell you what is going to happen to you.” Crowley swallows, bracing himself. “I will take you down to Hell where you will remain my prisoner until the earth itself ends. Maybe before that I’ll have some fun with you on my own. After all everyone’s yearning for a piece of you. You will be tortured and you will beg for death but never be granted reprieve. You betrayed me, Crowley. I don’t stand for betrayal.”

Pretty much just as he expected. Nothing that surprises him, but everything that fills him with palpable dread, pooling in the pit of his stomach like lead. 

A hand grips his arm – it’s Merrick’s, apparently ready to transport him somewhere else. Before they are off, Lucifer steps close, towering over him and looking down due to Moose’s height. 

“You will soon curse the day you decided to cross me, demon.”

“Oh, believe me. I already do,” Crowley sighs, giving in to the desire to let his shoulders sag and let the self-pity drown him. 

*

**Refugee Camp, McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas**

It’s Charlie’s first time in a camp like this. She’s heard a lot about them, the conditions, the work the angels put into protecting them, but she’s never really thought about what it would mean. 

Las Vegas was a magnetic place when the apocalypse first started, at least that’s what Charlie heard. Everyone who could afford to travel flew to Sin City, opting to go out in a blaze. 

The city lies mostly in ruins now. All Charlie can see from the rooftop is the tall rectangular Mandalay Bay casino. The hotel’s upper right corner is missing, and if she squints she can almost imagine the hotel rooms that have been exposed by whatever it was that caused the damage. A low flying plane, maybe. Or an explosion. 

The sun is setting but the temperature’s still around a hundred. Charlie cradles the water bottle in her hands, incredibly grateful that the humans here were ready to share so easily. 

Alex hasn’t spoken a word ever since they got here, too busy shooting Charlie glares and staring daggers at her. Charlie won’t apologize for saving the woman’s life, even if it meant that Alex couldn’t get her revenge in person, even if that in turn means that the huntress is currently sitting on the edge of the roof, dangling her feet in the air all broody and sexy.

The sound of Alex’ cell phone jerks them both back to the present. 

“Yes,” the other woman snaps, not bothering with turning on the loudspeaker. “Oh.” 

Must have been something sad, judging by the shadow that passes over Alex’ face. 

“Any idea where he’s off to? … Yeah, we’re fine. Beth’s dead. … No. I’m not talking about it, Gabriel.”

So they freed the archangel? Charlie feels a smile forming on her lips. 

“No, forget it. I’ll do what you asked for, alright? … I can’t promise anything.” Alex hangs up, probably before the angel has finished, yet by the looks of it Alex hated whatever he told her at the end. 

“What happened?” Charlie tries, hoping for a reaction. To her surprise Alex is willing to explain. 

“Castiel is dead. Gabe isn’t sure about the details but Dean was there and now he’s on a suicide mission and won’t accept help.”

“So Gabriel wants us to tail him?”

Alex nods. “No idea where he’s off to or where Lucifer is, seeing as they found out his last base of operations.”

“Well, get me a serviceable laptop and an internet connection and I’ll work my magic.” Another nod. Alex’s eyes, usually so expressive and alive, are dull and empty, as if she’s running on autopilot. “Listen, Alex, I’m –“

“You don’t need to apologize. I know you saved my life. I’d like to say thank you but I’m not grateful at the moment. Just leave it. I’ll be fine.”

Charlie really wants to believe her, but it’s a lost cause.

*

**A bar somewhere outside Washington, DC**

In general, Brian Remy oscillates between split-second decisions in high-pressure situations (mostly client meetings) and intricate, thought-out plans where he leaves nothing to chance. His instincts are rarely wrong – they are what made him senior partner at one of the most prestigious advertising firms in the capital. 

So when the fighting started and his instincts told him to run as far away as possible, he didn’t even contemplate his decision for a second. When an army of angels attack the side you’re working on it then doesn’t take someone as clever as Brian to figure out that strategic retreat might be the best choice. 

Brian has never believed in the concept of karma – too many years of too many ruthless decisions that were rewarded with ever more power, more money… Now, however, as he is sitting in a bar a few miles outside of Washington, sipping half-way decent scotch and the door bursts open with a bang revealing none other than Lucifer himself, Brian wonders if this is the moment that karma is going to cash in a lifetime of egoistic behavior. 

“I thought you were smarter than the average human, Brian.”

He is too shocked to argue, or actually formulate any kind of answer. 

“You fled. Now, why would you do that, Brian?”

Thankfully his voice decides to work again. “You know me – always the survivor.” It sounded more suave in his head. 

“Logic like that simply doesn’t apply to the apocalypse, Brian. The way I see it, you are a deserter. Weak. Maybe not actually worthy of my time, but I am slightly disappointed by your lack of loyalty at the slightest sliver of danger, so I thought I would come to see to you personally.”

“I doubt it will do me any good to beg for forgiveness?”

“I don’t believe in forgiveness.”

The statement shouldn’t surprise Brian, but it does. For all intentions and purposes, he considers himself a cold, opportunistic bastard, yet he has forgiven and been forgiven. It is an essential part of life. Or maybe just of being human.

“You’re missing out,” Brian quips, a kind of giddiness rising in his chest. He has always wondered how he would act in the face of certain death. When there was still a chance of a favorable outcome like when he first met Lucifer, Brian seems capable of keeping his cool. Now, however, his response appears to be inadequate bravado. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Everyone makes mistakes and while I concede that some errors are beyond forgiveness, there are quite a lot that aren’t grave. One mistake does not make or break the man.”

“I think we are applying different standards. After all, I merely stated my opinion, declared my father’s newest creations beneath me, and I did not receive any lenience. I was cast from Heaven and into Hell.”

“Well, between that and Jesus Christ, your father seems to have come a long way.”

“Do you intend to involve me in a philosophical discourse on my father’s various mood swings as a way to distract me from why I am really here?”

 _Damn._ Brian swallows thickly. If he can’t come up with a last-minute rescue, these are his last moments on earth. And he doubts God has a place in Heaven for people like him. 

“That was my plan. I never really thought it would succeed, however.”

“Indeed. Do you want to make a break for freedom and run away? I would even give you a head start. I’m in a particularly good mood today.”

“Good enough to give me another chance?” Brian asks, his giddiness changing into desperation from one breath to the next. 

Lucifer’s reply is a simple snapping of his fingers. Brian senses what is coming before his neck breaks from invisible pressure. Then he is standing apart from the scene, gazing down at his lifeless body, a young woman with exotic features standing next to him as he watches Lucifer shrug, down the scotch still standing on the counter and blink out of existence. 

“Come, now. You have to follow me,” the woman tells him. 

A thousand questions come to mind, like who she is, what she is doing, if his body is lying there is his current form his soul, yet he doesn’t ask any of them. 

“Where am I going?”

“I think you know,” the woman says, her tone devoid of caring or any other emotion. Her eyes flicker down. 

Brian closes his eyes, resigned. 

*

**US-287, near Wichita Falls, Texas**

Dean has been driving for about four hours, ever since he found himself next to his car again, somewhere near Albuquerque, Texas, with no idea where to go from there. He checked his baby over, thrilled at how she was in top condition, not one scratch, let alone traces from the explosion on her. As soon as he was finished and slid into the driver’s seat, relishing the feel of being back behind the wheel despite his shitty mood, his cell phone chirped with a text. 

_There is a magic shop in New Orleans. Dylan, the owner, should be able to find who you’re looking for – Jamie_

It was as good a plan as any, especially since Jamie had the whole prophet-of-the-Lord-thing going for him, so Dean maneuvered his car onto the 287, set to drive until he hit the end of the line. 

Usually it’s a fifteen hour drive, though Dean figures that speed limits don’t really have any justification anymore, so he floors it, practically flying down the road with nothing around him but far-reaching lands, the setting sun, the scythe on the seat next to him and his tapes, all of them. He turns up the volume loud enough to silence his own thoughts and just keeps driving, driving, until he needs gas. 

All gas stations are abandoned and mostly one of the pumps still works. One time, around two in the morning near Dallas, _still_ Texas, a gang of demons attacks him. Dean strikes them down with ease, ash piling on the floor at his feet. 

His mind flashes back to blue eyes crumbling at the hand of the very weapon he’s holding and he jerks back, dropping the scythe. It takes five or ten minutes – too long either way – until Dean’s got a handle on himself again. 

He gets right back into the car, his knuckles white from their grip on the steering wheel. 

*

**New Orleans**

Dylan jerks awake when his phone goes off, rubbing his eyes and blearily looking at the digital clock next to his bed. August 2nd, 7:03. Too damn early. 

“I was having such a great dream,” he tells the person on the other end, rounding his statement off with a yawn. 

“Sorry,” Charlie’s voice comes through the speaker, “but this is important. I’m going to describe a man to you and if you hear about him or see him or anything, you tell me asap, okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

Dylan listens to Charlie describe a guy that sounds way too familiar, absent-mindedly scratching his hellhound behind his ears. Yes, the dog’s allowed on his bed. It’s surprisingly comfy. “What’s his name?”

“Uh, Dean.”

“Dean? As in ‘Winchester’? Why would he seek me out of all people? He’s not gunning against me, is he? I’m sure he’s got bigger fish to gut than petty little warlocks…”

“He might ask for your help. Maybe it’s best to give it to him; he’s not in the best place right now…”

“Well, who is?” It was intended as rhetorical, but Charlie answers after all. 

“His, uh, his boyfriend died last night.”

“Sucks for him. But Charlie, it’s the apocalypse. Everyone gets the same amount of pity from me.”

“You don’t understand, Dylan – this guy, Castiel –“

“Castiel?!”

“How do you know him?”

“Charlie, you really underestimate the level of information I possess. When something epic goes down in the supernatural world, I know it. So what, this angel and Dean Winchester of all people decided to shack up in time for the apocalypse and now Winchester’s on a one-man mission to avenge his lover without really caring whether he lives or dies ‘cause he’s got nothing else to live for?”

“When you put it like that…”

“Never mind that – why do you need to know where he’s heading?”

“Alex – the huntress I was telling you about?” Dylan makes an affirmative noise. “She and I are going to shadow him. He threatened Gabriel if he tried to stop him or help him or anything really, so it’s our job now.”

“Gabriel’s been freed, then?”

“Yes! Sorry, I should have led with the good news.”

“It’s fine. And I’ll call you in case he shows.”

“Thanks, Dylan. I owe you.”

“You and so many other people. Put it on my tab,” he quips, hanging up shortly after. 

Dean Winchester. The stories Dylan has heard about that man… he and his brother are legends, the stuff that gives monsters nightmares. Dylan has been content to have never met the brothers – too much trouble, really. Maybe when he sees him, Winchester will have a sign with “Hello Trouble, here I am” around his neck to explain his propensity to get involved in the worst things. 

Chuckling to himself, Dylan climbs out of bed. 

*

Dean makes it to New Orleans around eight in the morning. To his surprise the city’s almost alive, and definitely vibrant compared to the ghost towns he passed on the way. There’s even a couple walking their dog, two women pushing a stroller, just about to enter the City Park. 

“’scuse me, ma’am?” Dean calls out through his rolled-down window. 

One moment later there’s the barrel of a gun in front of his face while the second woman draws an angel blade. Huh. 

“I gotta recommend your reflexes there, but I’m just looking for directions. There a diner still around that serves breakfast? And I’m looking for a guy named Dylan, runs a magic shop somewhere in town.” 

“Why should we help you?” the one with the blade shoots back and Dean figures they’ve probably learnt to never give away anything for free pretty soon after the shit started hitting the fan. 

“Listen, I got some weapons in my trunk, including guns and ammo. How’s that sound? We got a deal?”

Fifteen minutes later Dean’s rid of one handgun and a rifle as well as a decent amount of ammo and entering the diner with a second sports bag full of similar contraband. 

As soon as he sets foot inside the restaurant (and it actually deserves the title; got booths and everything and it looks pretty clean, not at all like the dive Dean expected), he’s once again on the receiving end of several glares and weaponry. 

“Ain’t no need for that. I got weapons, ammo and some salt to trade against some grub. Think we can make a deal?” he asks into the room. 

The person to answer is a big, black woman who looks as if she could do some serious damage. 

“I’m Monique, I run this place. Show me what you got, boy.”

Dean bristles slightly – ‘cause seriously, he’s in his thirties and the woman’s maybe three years older than him – but he complies. Monique inspects the cargo with a trained eye, leaning back when she’s finished and crossing her arms over he chest. 

“This’ll get you a hearty breakfast. What do you want?”

Dean gives her his order, almost afraid that she’ll say they don’t have any bacon or whatever, but they’re apparently well stocked. Monique sits him down at the bar, gives him coffee and food before sending him out of the joint, the looks of every other patron following him out. 

It’s good to see people getting on despite the shitty circumstances. _Suck that, Lucifer._

He’s in for a surprise when he pulls up in front of the magic shop. It’s big, for one, and not hiding behind some lame-ass cover of selling esoteric new-age crap. Dean inspects the walls and windows, failing to see any visible wards. Probably intentional, he figures as he climbs out of the car, taking another sports bag with weapons with him, throwing in a few of the ingredients for spells they keep hidden underneath the floorboards for emergency summoning. Dean would marvel that everything’s still in place in his baby but that’d mean thinking about who restored his car and that’d lead to thoughts about Cas and Dean’s got no time to ward off another fucking panic attack. 

A bell above the door chimes when he enters. There’s a kid behind the counter, maybe in his twenties if you squint, tall and somewhat scrawny. 

“You Dylan?” Dean asks, approaching the counter while noting exits and windows. 

“Wow, who taught you manners?”

“I’ve got no time for freakin’ manners, kiddo. I need you to do something for me and I got enough stuff to pay for it.”

“Let me guess, you need this ominous thing done yesterday?”

“You got it,” Dean grins, placing the bag on top of the counter. 

Dylan inspects the contents, letting out a low whistle. “Now I’m kind of hesitant to ask about what you need me to do.”

“Locate someone. I got it on good authority that you’re someone who could pull that off.”

“Well, who is it that needs locating?”

“Lucifer.”

The kid splutters, eyes widening almost comically. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“But – why?! Shouldn’t you be glad to be as far away from that guy as possible?”

“I got a score to settle with him, which, just for the record, is none of your fucking business.”

“What would you do if I told you to get the hell out of my shop?”

Dean draws the scythe, almost lazily. Dylan takes it in, swallowing hard as soon as realization hits. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yup.”

Dylan lets out another low whistle. “Can I hold it?”

“It was lent to me, kid. Not happening. Wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.”

The boy looks disappointed. Hell, a powerful warlock like him can probably feel the energy this thing’s probably leaking all over the place. 

“So, we got a deal?”

Dylan bites his lower lip, looking up at Dean with a thoughtful expression. “I’ll do it under one condition. In addition to the weapons and supplies, I get a phial of your blood.”

“What the hell’d you want with my blood?”

“You’re Dean Winchester. I’m sure your blood’s good for something.”

Dean takes in the kid, wondering if he’s bluffing, if there’s some kind of ritual that’ll need his blood. _Fuck, this ain’t Harry Potter_ , he decides eventually. It’s not like Lucifer can use his blood to make him immune to any of Dean’s charms. 

“Alright, kid. You got yourself a deal.”

*

Dylan waits until Winchester is back in his car and driving off before reaching for his phone and giving his dog the signal that he can come out from the back again.

“Yes, Charlie, he was here. Wanted me to trace down the devil himself. I take it he’s the one who killed his boyfriend?”

Charlie’s sigh is answer enough. “So where did you send him?”

“Chicago. The devil’s in Chicago.”

“Huh. What’s in Chicago?” 

“What am I, a tourist information?”

“Sorry… Do you know when he’ll get there?”

“Looks like he’s driving. That’s about fourteen, fifteen hours. You got time.”

“Alright. Thanks again!”

“Good luck, girl.”

*

**One day later, I-57**

Even though it takes him ages to get to Chicago by car, Dean’s glad to be driving. It clears his head, the endless road stretching before him, only his tape collection keeping him company. 

He catches a few hours of shut-eye when he’s practically falling asleep at the wheel, re-establishing the wards inside his car that Sammy removed back when… back when he was still a demon, and Sam was still Sam and Cas… 

Dean shakes his head. He’s almost there, can taste the revenge on his tongue. 

He’s fully aware that chances are he’s not gonna make it out of Chicago alive. He’s fine with that. He’s tired, too, tired of years and years of fighting and then still ending up in that goddamn rose garden with the world in ruins. 

He overheard the folks in the diner talk about the Euphrates, filled to the brim with human blood. There’s no radio anymore, only the info service that someone established at one of the refugee camps that’s transmitting all over the country. If twenty per cent of the population’s still breathing, it’s a generous estimation. 

So yeah. Dean’ll take his shot, give his very best to stab that son of a bitch who’s ruined his life and that of his family, but if in the end Lucifer gets one over him and kills him, Dean’ll greet Death without complaining and accept Hell as his new home for eternity. 

He’s never been this focused in his life. He’s grim, sure, but he’s determined and eerily calm when the first buildings of Chicago come into view. 

_Into battle._

*

**Art Institute, Chicago**

Crowley’s screams are music to his ears. The former “King of Hell” is enveloped in green flames, which provide the sensation of being burnt alive yet never actually scarring the flesh. 

Lucifer has been torturing the demon all through the night and into morning. It’s been a while since he had the muse to focus his ministrations on one individual rather than entire cities or regions. In fact, the last person he tortured like this was Sam Winchester, back in the cage. 

Sam seems to recall that time – Lucifer can feel his anguish as he watches his not-quite-friend suffer. 

Crowley’s no usual demon, his true form still twisted and mangled, yet with strange spots where his humanity has been brought to the fore, an after effect of the Winchesters’ attempt to cure him. It makes conjuring hurtful visions to drive him out of his mind even easier.

“Please, please stop,” Crowley gasps, his chest heaving and tears of pain spilling from his eyes. 

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet.”

*

Dean finds the Art Institute of Chicago without trouble. He only had to pass by two groups of demons scouring the streets, one of which dies at the end of the scythe before they reach his car when they spied him. 

According to Dylan’s spell, Lucifer’s in there. Maybe he’s feeling cultural? Taking in some sights before annihilating the city?

Dean does a quick sweep, noting the lack of guards. The arrogant prick probably figures he’s above that. Well, Dean’s gonna show him. 

The inside of the building is empty as well, save for the posters and exhibits. Dean advances slowly, listening to his surroundings, the scythe raised and ready to slay anything getting in his way. 

He’s passed the Grand Staircase, opting to check out the lower level first, when he hears the screaming. 

*

“There!” Charlie yelps when the black Chevy rounds the corner, only to have Alex shush her. 

“He really drove that car all the way from New Orleans?” Alex wonders, sounding as though she’d rather take on a Wraith all by her lonesome. 

“Dean loves his car. And he loves driving. I guess the time on the road did him some good.”

“Well, he looks like crap,” is Alex’ assessment and she’s not wrong. When Charlie watches Dean get out of the car she can see his rumpled clothes and the circles underneath his eyes. Charlie hopes he at least got some sleep. 

“Let’s go. We have to get off this bridge first.”

They climb down to the street level again, tailing the Impala at a safe distance, watching with bated breath as Dean outright slaughters a band of ten or twelve demons without breaking a sweat. Charlie’s seen Dean in soldier-mode and this is something totally different. 

Alex raises an eyebrow when he enters the Art Institute, though doesn’t comment. True to the promise they gave Gabriel, they sneak into the building, unknowing what will wait for them inside. 

*

Dean’s not sure how he feels about seeing Crowley suffer like this. Sure enough, the dick’s always been more trouble than help, but in the past few weeks he did help Charlie and Alex and he did kill Gavin. He’s the evil they know. 

Lucifer has taken up residence in the big exhibition rooms on the side of the Millennium Park. Whatever art adorned the walls before that is impossible to tell – paintings, vases, everything’s been piled into a corner to make room for… well, one chair. And Crowley. 

Dean thinks fast. Back in New Orleans he nicked two magic grenades he glimpsed on his way out. Two chances. He retrieves the first one while passing the scythe to his left hand. 

He aims. Reaches back. Breathes out. Throws. 

The grenade hits its target, exploding right at Lucifer’s feet and catapulting both him and the bound demon out of the center. Out of the corner of his eye Dean can see Crowley getting up – the ropes must have burnt off. 

Lucifer, meanwhile, is glaring at him, his usually unblemished suit dirty and torn. 

“Dean. What a surprise,” he drawls, the sarcasm evident in his tone. He swipes a hand over the ripped fabric and one blink later the suit’s as good as new. 

“You and me got unfinished business.”

“Oh, is this the part where you try once again to kill me and fail epically? Any more boyfriends here to save your life?” Sam’s features transform into a sneer, an expression Dean’s never seen his brother make. 

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Crowley comments from a corner, apparently about to flee the scene. 

“Oh no, you’re staying here,” Lucifer decides, extending his arm. Crowley flies back against the wall, pinned into place by invisible forces. “I’m not finished with you.”

“That your new hobby, Luci? Torturing lowlifes?”

Dean doesn’t expect the surge of pain that hits him in his chest and spreads quickly through his entire body, almost making him drop the scythe as he collapses to his knees.

“I hate that nickname,” is all the explanation he gets. 

“That why you tortured Gabriel? ‘cause he hurt your delicate feelings?”

“Not at all. I tortured him because killing him would only led to another resurrection. Can’t anyone simply die in this world?”

“Plenty died because of you, you goddamn son of a bitch!” Dean snarls, finally upright again and poised for attack. 

“Like it was always meant to be.”

“Well, I’ve never been good with keeping to plans,” Dean quips, then lunges at the devil. 

Lucifer sidesteps him easily, is suddenly on his left but Dean anticipated a move like that and he swings the scythe. Lucifer barely moves out of the way in time but the moment’s enough for him to blast Dean back. He uses the momentum to roll to his feet again, starting another attack only to be slammed against the wall, one of Sam’s large hands closing around his throat, the other pinning his wrist to restrict the range of the scythe. Dean tries to kick but it’s no use – his vision is already darkening around the edges but then out of nowhere, a bottle comes flying. It hits Lucifer right in the back and bursts into flames. 

He screams in agony, Sam’s voice still making Dean’s heart clench even though it’s not his brother anymore. Then the air is back in his lungs and another explosion rocks the building. 

When Dean gets up there’s a gaping hole in the wall and Lucifer’s half-burnt form is lying on the grass. A quick glance upwards shows Alex and Charlie on the balustrade on the first level. 

“I told you to stay out of this!” he bellows but is already jumping over the rubble, hoping to get to Lucifer before the guy gets his bearings back. 

He’s too late and takes a large brick to the chest for his trouble, knocking him on his ass. His grip on the scythe doesn’t loosen. 

“You think you can defeat me with tricks and pyrotechnics?” Lucifer laughs sardonically, his voice loud enough to carry across the park. 

This would usually be the point where Dean pulls some extraordinary weapon from up his sleeve, says “Surprise, bitch!” and ends this motherfucker but all Dean’s got is the close-range scythe and he’s beginning to doubt he’ll ever get the chance to burry it inside Lucifer. 

“Is that all you have to offer?” the devil bellows, his tone a cross between derisive and amused. “You really thought you were a match for me?”

Another piece of rubble hits Dean, this time in the back, and he tumbles forward, the momentum propelling him into the ground too fast for him to catch is fall. 

Two distinct voices gasp and scream behind him and when he blinks through the blood, he can see Alex and Charlie pinned to the outside wall of the Institute. Wait, blood?

Dean’s hand touches his head, crimson coating it when he pulls it back. Meanwhile Lucifer’s still standing there, eyes closed and arms spread, but his expression focused. The mystery of what he’s doing evaporates as soon as the ground starts to shake, worse than any earthquake Dean’s ever heard of. He can see the skyscrapers beyond the Institute sway; can hear buildings start to crack and metal snap from too much pressure. 

Dean seizes the chance. He breaks into a run, willing his legs to work faster, faster and comes at Lucifer at full speed – 

He is frozen mid-jump. 

He’s thrown back a few feet and before he can get to his feet again, a ring of fire bursts into existence, successfully closing him in. 

Then the ring starts shrinking. 

There’s no other way but to jump through the green flames, so Dean braces himself, wiping the blood still oozing from his head wound away with the arm of his jacket as he gets ready.

One last, deep breath. 

One step has to be enough of a run-up he figures as he takes it, then pushes himself off the ground, prepared for the pain that never comes. He lands with too much momentum and rolls forward, confused for a moment. 

The fire is gone. The ground stopped shaking. 

“Don’t you think this is enough, Lucifer?” someone says. 

It ain’t Gabriel, nor Alex or Charlie. The knight in shining armor’s not wearing battle gear either but a brown corduroy jacket and a blue-grey shirt as well as a benevolent smile. 

“Chuck?!” Dean bursts out, staggering to his feet. 

“Not quite.” 

Chuck’s voice is different. Gone’s the ever-present wavering, the insecurity. He’s not trembling at the sight of Lucifer whereas the Chuck Dean remembers used to piss his pants at every corner. 

“Who are you?” Lucifer snaps, clearly angry that whoever this is stole his mojo and interrupted his big showdown. Dean’s just glad for the chance to breathe. 

Chuck tilts his head, his smile still in place. “Don’t you recognize me, son?”

Processing that sentence takes Dean’s brain even longer than Lucifer. Even Alex gasps in understanding long before Dean connects the dots. 

“You’re not him,” Lucifer snarls. “You’re not the father I remember.”

“And yet I am him. Character development – it’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

“Prove it,” the devil growls, which is the moment the reality of the situation finally catches up with Dean, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest. 

“With pleasure.”

Chuck – no, _God_ – snaps a finger completely matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s. 

Suddenly there’s another figure standing in the park, right between Dean and Lucifer. The person stumbles, arms raised as if they’re holding onto something, but they catch their balance a moment later and straighten um. 

Dean chokes. 

He’s not wearing jeans or the shirt Dean gave him that morning, but his old suit and the same trench coat he had on all these years ago when Dean laid eyes on him for the very first time. 

“Cas?” It’s barely more than a whisper, his voice too thin for anything else. 

Blue eyes find his and it’s really him, it’s Cas, alive and in the flesh and before Dean knows it he’s closed the distance between them and thrown his arms around the man, pulling him close to make sure he’s really there and not just an hallucination. 

“Damn it, Cas,” he sniffles, not caring in the slightest that there’s something wet on his cheeks and when Cas murmurs his name, sounding dazed, Dean can’t stop himself. 

“You stupid son of a gun, Cas, why’d you do something so stupid,” he babbles, words slurring together ‘cause he can’t articulate them right now, his thoughts are tripping over themselves too much. “You can’t just do that, you hear me man, you said I should tell you after we won and then you were gone and I’d never told you, screw you, screw you to Heaven and back, fuck, Cas, I love you, I love you…”

Cas silences his endless stream of confessions with a kiss. It’s barely even a kiss, just his lips touching Dean’s and it’s like the air has returned to the world and where everything was black and white suddenly the world’s in Technicolor again. 

He distantly realizes how truly pathetic his thoughts sound but he just got Cas back and he doesn’t give a fuck, not a single one. 

Then something soft touches his cheek and he startles back, narrowing his eyes at the empty space next to his face, then at Cas, who’s beaming at him. 

“What you felt were my wings, Dean.”

“You mean –“

“I have my mojo back,” Cas finishes with a grin. 

“So that means…” Dean trails off, turning around to look at Chuck again. Who is watching them. With a smile. God’s smiling at him kissing Cas. Of all the things Dean thought might be within the realm of possibility, this one really wasn’t on the list. 

The moment ends when Lucifer clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, Dean and Cas’ as well though Dean still sneaks an arm around the angel’s waist, not ready to break contact. 

“I take it you are here to smite me, father.”

“No. I’m here to offer you forgiveness. There is a place for you in Heaven – all you need to do is ask for it.”

Lucifer’s expression probably mirrors the one Dean’s wearing now and he can feel Cas tense next to him. 

“ _Forgiveness_?” Lucifer spits out, his entire body trembling with rage. “You cast me from home! You locked me in a cage! You weren’t there to offer me _forgiveness_ when I last escaped my prison.”

“At the time I thought the punishment fit the crime. I was angry, Lucifer, so angry. Time has not left me unscathed and I needed time away, which is why I was gone.”

“And now you’re back and expect me to beg for forgiveness at your feet like some insect you could crush with one foot?”

Fire starts to emerge from Lucifer’s fingers, licking up his arms before evaporating into nothing. Chuck doesn’t flinch, just lets him rage. 

“You are my son.”

“Screw you and the high horse you rode on!” Lucifer is screaming now and whatever spell Chuck worked suddenly breaks for the ground starts shaking again. 

Cas shifts his stance and an angel blade falls into his hand, reminding Dean that he’s still clutching the scythe. 

Lucifer disappears in a ball of green fire. He’s gone but the earthquake ain’t over and there’re dark clouds forming above them, thunder rolling in the distance. 

“We gotta go after him,” Dean shouts over the noise of the oncoming storm. 

Cas nods, but looks to Chuck for a final confirmation. He nods and one heartbeat later they’re gone. 

*

Alex is still staring at the spot where Dean and Castiel just disappeared. Resurrection at the flick of a wrist. Granting forgiveness to the gravest sinner of them all. 

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Crowley roars when he emerges from the hole in the wall of the dangerously swaying Institute. “Where’s Moose and Squirrel? Who the hell are you?” he snaps at the man that Dean called Chuck. 

“God.”

“Yes, aren’t you hilarious. Red, then you tell me. Who’s this bloke and where are the Winchesters?”

Alex doesn’t listen to Charlie’s stuttered explanation; all her attention is focused on the man claiming to be God. It doesn’t compute insider her mind. Granted, he did resurrect Castiel and Lucifer seemed to believe him but… God can’t be… God is… 

“You get used to the vessel,” Chuck says and it takes Alex a moment to realize it’s directed at her. 

“I apologize,” she manages. 

“No need for that. I’m afraid our talk has to wait until after the situation at hand has been solved. Would you care to see how it ends?”

Alex nods, as does Charlie. Crowley is outside her field of vision yet when they re-appear on top of a hill outside Chicago, the former King of Hell is there as well. The hill offers a breath-taking view of the city but instead of a picture-perfect blue sky with the sun’s reflection visible in the water behind the skyscrapers, the sky is filled with clouds and lighting strikes at frequent intervals while the first fires start to spread through the city. 

A little further away there are Lucifer, hands clutching his head, with Dean and Castiel apparently talking vehemently at him. 

*

 _“Take his offer,”_ that stupid voice insists and try as he might, Lucifer can’t shut Sam out of his mind. _“You’ve had your revenge – you’ve had your apocalypse. This is your chance to put it all behind you, man. You’d be foolish to let that pass.”_

“Whatever Sammy’s saying, listen to him, pal,” Dean tells him outside of his head. 

“ENOUGH!” Lucifer roars, throwing Dean and the annoying angel back and erecting a circle of fire around him to prevent them from approaching again. 

_“Your father has changed, Lucifer, just as you have changed.”_

“I’m still the same –“

_“You’re not! When we first met you wanted to destroy the planet, burn it to the ground. Now you’ve got followers, you’re letting it go ‘cause you’re not finished yet, are you? You don’t want it to end. So take the next step, go home and find some peace.”_

“You’re just telling me that because making me change my mind will score you brownie points, isn’t that right, Sammy?”

A moment of silence. _“I know where I’m headed, Lucifer. I deserve it, too. After everything that I’ve done I’m beyond forgiveness. But you got a chance here. Don’t you want to stop fighting? Stop being angry?”_

“He’ll never truly forgive me, Sam. Do you think your father ever forgave you for abandoning them and running off to Stanford?”

_“My Dad was flawed and human. Your Dad wrote the book on mercy. If anyone’s able to forgive what you did, it’s him.”_

“You really think my siblings are going to sit idly by while I reclaim my old room? Gabe will be the first of many to spit in my face.”

_“Gabriel will follow your father’s directive, Lucifer. It’s gonna take a while but you’ll be able to mend those bridges. Your family’s gonna be just as dysfunctional as any other.”_

Lucifer says nothing. 

_“And what if you return to Heaven and you find out it’s just not working? So what? You can leave the place, right? Gabriel did it for years. I’m sure if it doesn’t work out your father will offer you somewhere else to go.”_

Lucifer says nothing. 

_“He’s not the same guy he was when he cast you out, don’t you see that? I mean, I know that Gabe said the Bible’s not all true, but back then during the Old Testament God was so wrathful, so violent. He changed. Your old Dad would’ve killed you without giving it a second thought but now he’s here, he’s talking to you, he wants you to go home. Don’t you want to go home?”_

“Of course I do!” he finally blurs, immediately cursing his lack of restraint. 

_“Then what’s the problem?”_

“It shouldn’t be so easy. It’s too neat. I kill his favorite son, destroy his favorite toys and now I’m just forgiven? Just like that?”

_“He said you need to ask for it. And hang on – didn’t you say way back that you were his favorite son?”_

Sam’s right. He was. He remembers that time when his life was full of love and happiness and long talks with his father and teaching Gabriel all the tricks he knew, sparring with Michael when he got bored. 

Lucifer tells himself that it’s never going to be like that again, that Michael has died at his hand and that Gabriel won’t even look at him should he return, yet all that prevails in his mind is the image of him and his father, drinking hot ambrosia and talking about everything and nothing. 

Maybe. Just maybe…

*

Dean immediately grips the scythe’s handle tighter when the flames recede into the ground. Lucifer’s standing tall, his expression blank. It’s still Lucifer, Dean can say that beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

He walks past them without so much as a glance in their direction. Cas and he exchange matching puzzled looks when it becomes clear that Lucifer’s heading towards Chuck who’s not doing anything but standing there, still smiling softly. Dean wonders what drugs he’s on ‘cause he doesn’t even twitch. 

“Dad,” Lucifer begins and Dean’s ready to jump at the slightest hint of bad intentions. Nothing happens, though. Lucifer’s eyes are on the floor before he forcible drags them up to meet Chuck’s. “May I go home?”

Dean’s completely floored by the question, unable to grasp the implications. Chuck doesn’t seem to have the same problem. His eyes shine wetly and his lips part, curling into a brighter smile. 

“Of course, son,” he says and wraps his short arms around Sam’s considerably larger body. 

Then they’re gone. 

*

“What the – “ is as far as Dean gets before Chuck’s back among them, looking content and happy. 

“I’m sorry, I just had to bring Lucifer to a place where he does not need a vessel.”

“What’ve you done with Sam?” Dean demands immediately, ignoring Cas’ hand on his harm. 

“No need to worry, Dean.” Chuck blinks, then looks to the side. When Dean follows his gaze, Sammy appears, wearing plaid and jeans and sturdy boots instead of that douchy white suit and gaping at all of them. 

“But - how -” Sam stammers. “Why am I here?”

“Oh, Sam,” Chuck sighs. “Did you really think your soul would go to Hell?”

Dean watches his brother swallow and croak, “Yes.”

“You did what you thought was right. You acted because of love. And in the end there, if I am not mistaken, you convinced my son to come home. Hell will never touch you, Sam Winchester.”

Dean knows what it looks like when Sam’s dams are about to burst after years of teenage drama and fretting over tests. He’s closed the distance between them before the first sob escapes Sammy’s throat and then just holds him, breathes in his brother’s smell that’s so achingly familiar and doesn’t even complain that Sammy gets his shirt wet and that his grip is so tight that he can feel it in his ribs. 

“What happens now?” Dean hears Charlie ask, her eyes darting between Chuck and them. 

“That is up to you, Miss Bradbury. And you as well, Miss Kahr.” 

Alex straightens up, narrowing her eyes. 

“The world is in a bad place,” Chuck explains. “I don’t need to tell you how it looks, how dangerous it has become. You two have done great work and I am both grateful and proud. I will gladly take you with me right now, if you so desire. Or you can stay here, keep up what you have done so far. There are still demons out there and I believe the internet is still working just fine. In case you wish to stay, rest assured that Heaven awaits you whenever your life runs its course.”

The two women are stunned into silence. Dean’s stroking Sam’s hair with one hand and rubbing his shoulders with the other, leaning his head against Cas’ leg ‘cause at some point the angels stepped closer. 

Alex is the first to speak up. “I’ll stay.”

“Please only do that if you don’t see it as punishment for mistakes you believe to have made but which, in fact, were dependent on circumstances beyond your control.”

“I’m not – I mean… I’m not done here. I still have some fight in me.”

Chuck considers her for a long moment as if he’s inspecting her soul. Damn, maybe he is, Dean muses. He’s God after all. 

“As you wish. Miss Bradbury?”

“Uh, what she said. I’m not that good at fighting but… If the web’s still there, I got some use.”

Chuck nods. “Anywhere in particular you would like to start?”

“Uh, maybe New Orleans? There’s a warlock, he’s been helpful.”

Something in Dean’s mind slots into place. “Warlock? Wait – that scrawny kid? Did he rat me out? Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes, and for the record,” Charlie tells him sternly, “we totally saved your ass back there.”

All the fight leaves Dean’s body before it ever really filled it. “Yeah. You kind of did.”

He watches as Chuck zaps both Alex and Charlie away just as Sam starts to calm down. 

“How’re you feeling, Sammy?”

“Exhausted,” is all his brother manages.

“I guess that is to expect when the devil uses you as a prom dress for several weeks,” Crowley drawls, ‘cause right, that bitch’s still there. 

“What’re you still doing here, assbutt?” Dean demands as he helps Sam to his feet. Cas chuckles at the use of the word, and Dean flashes him a quick grin before returning his glare to the demon who’s watching them, hands in his pockets. 

“Yes,” Chuck interrupts, blinking into existence in their midst abruptly. 

“Jeez, some warning would’ve been nice,” Dean grumbles, which earns him an jab into the ribs from his brother. 

“Don’t you have a throne to reclaim?” Chuck adds, still looking at Crowley. 

“Pardon?”

“Well, Hell needs a King. I am given to understand that you filled that position rather adequately.”

“Sure, if I’ll manage to kill Merrick, all should be dandy,” he sneers but falls silence when Chuck hands him… something. Dean would call it an angle blade but it’s black, the hilt topped off with red. 

“I thought a trident might have been a little laughable.”

“You got a point there,” Crowley returns, accepting the weapon cheerfully. Before he goes, he turns towards the three of them one last time. “Moose. Squirrel. Boytoy.”

Crowley smirks, then he’s gone. 

_Well, now’s as good a time as any_ , Dean figures, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, uh, God?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“What about us?”

“First and foremost, I believe you have a weapon to return to its rightful owner.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean mumbles, looking down at he scythe. When he glances up again, Death is standing there, him and God sharing some sort of ancient secret handshake in the form of a look paired with a few eyebrow twitches. It’s all very weird and bromance-y. 

“Dean,” Death says with a smile. His face falls when he acknowledges his brother and partner. “Samuel. Castiel. Hello again.”

Cas inches back. Dean can’t wait to hear that story, seriously. 

“Thanks for giving me this,” he says, balancing the scythe in the palm of his hand. Death waves a hand over it and it disappears. 

“Well done, Dean.”

Without any other word Death is gone, leaving a warm sensation behind in Dean’s chest. 

“Now,” Chuck says, startling him out of his thoughts. “I will give you a choice as well. You do not need to decide collectively on one option, remember that.”

“What are they?” Cas voices what all of them are thinking right now. 

“You can retire. Stop hunting. You have done so much for this world that it could fill five lives. Retire, spend the rest of eternity in Heaven with your loved ones. Or,” Chuck continues, “you decide to stay here. Become the first in a new generation of warriors, protecting humanity as they find their way out of this darkness. I would endow you with a few special powers if you so desire. And you can rest assured that whenever your lives end, your place in Heaven is certain.”

Chuck is looking at Dean when he speaks the last few words and he can feel something break inside him. 

“Me, too?”

“Yes, Dean.”

He’s about to ask in what world he deserves to go to Heaven, that he’s done things, terrible things, that he’s been a monster more times than he was a hero but then his eyes fall on Sam and his blinding smile and Dean recalls that just a few minutes ago he watched Lucifer be accepted into Heaven – so if God can forgive the devil himself… Dean figures he has it in him to forgive Dean’s infractions. 

“Thank you,” he rasps, not really sure what else to say. 

“Good. Now all I need is to know what you decide?”

Dean looks at Sam, then at Cas. A moment passes quietly between them, testament to how good a team they still are that they don’t even need to exchange words. 

When Dean turns back towards Chuck, he’s smiling. 

*

**EPILOGUE**

The sun is standing high in the sky, reflecting off of the black paint of the 67 Chevrolet Impala as it speeds down the road, passing a sign reading “Route 66” in black letters against white background. 

The radio is blaring some classic rock song or other, clearly audible through the open windows. 

Dean Winchester smirks as he floors the gas pedal, earning him an annoyed “Dean!” from the backseat where his brother is trying to find a way to accommodate his long legs. 

Castiel, reclining in the passenger seat, merely chuckles. 

“I’m serious, Dean, if you keep speeding like this we’ll need to stop for gas before we reach our destination.”

“Stop whining, Samantha.”

“Only if you change the music – that song was old when I was born,” he complains.

Cas, probably taking pity on the younger Winchester, reaches out in order to adjust the radio, only to have his hand slapped away. 

“Ey, hands off! You know the rule: driver picks the music –“

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole,” both Sam and Cas finish in sync. It’s frightening and Dean stares at them with wide eyes as the two of them burst into laughter. 

It’s infectious, though, and soon Dean’s joining in for a bit until the song changes and he recognizes the lyrics and the voices joint in the chorus immediately. 

_Carry on my wayward son,_  
 _There’ll be peace when you are done,_  
 _Lay your weary head to rest,_  
 _Don’t you cry no more_

Dean’s ready to impress Cas with his air-guitar solo that he’ll execute any second now on the steering wheel when a Sasquash appears between the front seats and switches the radio to another channel and Dean whimpers at the loss of bass and drums. 

“I really hate that song,” Sam grouses. 

Dean rolls his eyes, although it’s more fond than annoyed. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam shoots back. 

“Assbutts,” Cas adds, switching the radio off entirely and bringing all further arguments to a premature end. 

Dean would complain but then Cas places a kiss on his cheek and he’s too busy smiling to give a damn. 

He brings his foot down on the pedal and off they are, speeding down the road.

 

∞ fin ∞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and that’s it. It’s done, I can’t believe it. I’m so proud that I finished it, wohoo! 
> 
> **Thank you all so much for reading** , for your comments and kudos and all the support and motivation! I’m always thrilled when someone tells me what they thought of my work, so don’t be shy, even though it’s over now (*grabs-a-tissue*). 
> 
> **A note on the ending:** I hope it comes across that it can be interpreted in more ways than one. Either you decide for yourself that our Team Free Will retired and are now cruising through Heaven, or you choose to go with option B, namely that they’re still on earth, kicking ass and taking names, until their hearts give out or Chuck decides enough is enough.  
>  Either way works, I think. So it’s up to you, dear reader, to decide which one you prefer.


End file.
